Of Love and its Relatives
by NewPaladin
Summary: This was just one of these moments where he felt there could happen more between them. He didn't take it, though, since it wasn't enough. Hayden, FemFado.
1. Anniversaries :: GeoffreyElincia ::

Finally, my first piece with Eli and Joanne. It's rather short (and fluffy) but I definitely want to write more about them. I really like genderswitch and I would love to explore the slightly changed characters in depth in the future (I mean, gender does have an impact on the development of character, but the essential traits don't change).

And I have started yet another challenge 8D I must be mad. Oh my. The prompts inspire me for now so let's hope that that doesn't change.

Now, have fun.

* * *

"Darling?"

Eli poked his head into the study. There his girlfriend sat, leaning over the desk with her head propped on her left fist. "Joanne?" He walked closer, placed a kiss on her neck and looked over her shoulder.

"What is it?" Joanne asked, sounding slightly annoyed. She didn't even look up.

"What are doing here? Isn't it time for dinner?" Normally they would cook together on weekends, but when he had come home just a minute ago, nothing had been prepared (and Joanne would've normally already prepared something because in her opinion he was always late. Which he wasn't; she was just impatient.).

"Eli, I don't have time for dinner." Now she looked up at him; a frown of frustration adorned her face. "I'm trying to solve this equation, but nothing I try gives me the correct solution." Her gaze turned back to the chequered white and grey paper in front of her and she crossed out her last futile attempt to solve this misery.

"I see..." Eli would help her if he could. But he was bad at maths and he honestly doubted that Joanne would appreciate it anyway. She liked to solve things on her own; it triggered a kind of childish contrariness.

Eli leaned down to press another kiss on her neck; she shrugged him off. With a little sigh he left the room, closing the door quietly.

Maybe thirty minutes later he came back. He found his girlfriend still sitting at the desk but now her head was lying on the paper. She had seemingly given up. Her mood was probably worse than before.

"Joanne?" He let his hand glide over her back. "Come, stand up." Joanne groaned in response.

She lifted her head slightly and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Eli, I have to do this today. Leave me alone." She hid her head in her arms. Eli sighed slightly.

"Come on. I'm sure that you can work out this equation better with some food in your belly." He poked her side, trying to elicit a squeak or giggle from her. Joanne only groaned. Eli rolled his eyes and grabbed her elbow, pulling her to her feet. She complied with an annoyed sigh. He grabbed her hand, entwining his fingers with hers and led her into the living room.

Joanne´s surprise was obvious when she took everything in. There were two plates with noodles on the small couch table and the TV was on; the DVD menu of the movie she's wanted to see for weeks flickered over the screen. Two candles illuminated the little room with their flickering light. And there was even a bouquet in that ugly yellow vase. Joanne turned to Eli with a quizzical look. He just nudged her towards the couch.

They sat down and Eli offered her the plate with the bigger heap of noodles. Joanne noted that he had made her favourite dish.

"Why did you do this?" she asked while he made a grab for the TV remote and put his free arm around her. He looked at her with a gentle smile and and pressed play. He kissed her temple, hugged her closer and leaned back.

"Just enjoy the evening." Joanne looked at him with a strange expression, but finally decided to do as he said and dug in. The noodles were as delicious and heart-warming as always.

After the movie - when Eli was massaging Joanne´s uptight shoulders - she lazily looked up at him over her not-so-uptight-anymore shoulder. He looked contented with the world.

"Why are you doing this?" A slow smile crept on his face while his hands wandered downwards, tracing a particular hard muscle at her lower back. She arched away from his hand; she was sore from sitting on that hard chair and his touch hurt slightly.

"Don't you remember what day it is?" he retorted and sneaked his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. She sank back against him and leaned her head against his shoulder so that she could look up at him.

"It's the day before my calculus exam."

Eli chuckled. "Yes, that as well." He kissed her at that ticklish spot where her neck and shoulder met. She squirmed slightly. "But I mean something else. What happened last year at this time?"

She hesitated, combing through her brain for memories of special events. "I almost missed to hand in my term paper in time and panicked."

"Not that. Try again."

Joanne stared blankly into space while running her fingers through the soft hair at Eli´s neck. Eli waited patiently for a few minutes and continued to knead and poke all those hard muscles in Joanne´s lower back. He felt her relaxing under his hands.

Finally, she looked up at him with a tired and relaxed look in her eyes. "I don't know."

Eli grinned and leaned down to whisper into her ear. "Exactly one year ago we had our first date."

"What!" Joanne shot up into an upright position, missing Eli´s chin for a few millimetres. "I forgot our first anniversary? I'm so sorry. I was so caught up in university work that I completely forgot. Your question this morning should have reminded me, but it didn't. Maths was so distracting that I prepared nothing for you. And now you've done so many nice things for me..." She looked so genuinely shocked and apologetic that Eli could only grin broader.

"Don't worry." He hugged her close. "I remembered it. Besides, you have so much stress at the moment. I'm not offended." Joanne sighed lowly and sneaked her arms around his middle.

"I'm still sorry."

"I know," Eli said, amused, tilted Joanne´s head up and pressed a loving kiss on her lips. "I know. And I still love you."

* * *

Just one thing at the end. The chapters will have different ratings. Most will probably be K or T, but there will be a little minority of Ms. I will mark those chapters in the AN as such (with nice big bold letters) so that there will be no unpleasant surprise. I don't think it would be reasonable to rate the whole thing here M just because of two or three M chapters. I will also put a note in the summary so that you don't have to click and be disappointed when I upload a M-chapter.


	2. Secrets :: FadiaVigarde ::

Genderswitched Fado and Vigarde.

Unnh, I love 'em. So hard. And there is a long and derpy story behind this pairing. But it would take too long to explain everything; the only important thing is that I ship Fadia/Vigarde like woah and I will pester you with it. Deal with it :p

I've planned to write epic stuff about them, but I can't write epic stuff so you get many, many oneshots. I've also planned to post them in a semi-chronological order, but I don't write them in a chronological order -.- So, I've decided to post the stories that can stand on their own independently from the ones that build on each other and refer to earlier events. Therefore, this story happens during their courtship, when Fadia is on a visit in Grado.

Fadia = Fem!Fado

* * *

He found her sitting in the garden, on the stone bench looking over the city. Her head was bowed and she looked at her lap, her hair falling over her shoulder.

Vigarde smiled to himself and tiptoed over to her, avoiding to walk over the gravel walk. Fadia didn't notice him; her posture showed that she was relaxed but still concentrated on whatever was in her lap. He was now standing almost next to her and could already see that cute tiny frown that always appeared when she was concentrating on something on her brow.

He leaned forward, supporting his hands on the backrest of the bank, and glanced down at her lap; there was a thick, red book. Simultaneously, he said quite loudly: "Hello, Fadia."

She startled violently - Vigarde thought he had even heard a little squeak, but she denied it fervently later on -, clutched the book tightly, crumbling the pages, and whirled her head around. The frightened expression fell from her face as soon as she saw Vigarde´s amused smile. Her cheeks darkened with anger and embarrassment and she slammed the book shut.

"Vigarde," she hissed and glared at him. Vigarde was not impressed.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, putting on an innocent act, and let his gaze sweep over the beautiful vista. The city was bustling and the people were as tiny as ants. The castle was so tall that you could even see a tiny bit of the ocean at the horizon. Then his gaze returned to the most beautiful object around - in Vigarde´s opinion at least.

Fadia was sitting very straight, her head was raised high and her hands folded over the book. Vigarde was not sure if she did that because she was really so angry that she acted very formal or because she didn't want to let him read the title and tried to hide it by acting like that. He loved that irritated expression on her face; while she was just as beautiful when she smiled, this certain fiery look gave her an aura of noblesse, of pride and strength. It attracted him.

"Vigarde, what do you want?"

He chuckled inwardly. He shifted so that he was leaning on his elbows; their heads were on the same level now. He folded his hands and shifted his gaze from her lovely face to the light grey seat of the stone bench. "I noticed you sitting here and I wanted to know what my beloved princess is doing."

"I'm reading. Is that all?" she answered curtly. He glanced at her sideways. She was aloof because she wanted to get rid of him. And it had to do with that book. He noticed that the sleeves of her blue dress were hiding the title on the spine of the book. That only made him more curious.

"Yes." He looked up again and just stared off at the horizon. Inwardly grinning, he heard her light shifting.

"If you now know what you wanted to know, why don't you leave?" She sounded impatient.

"It's such a nice day. I have no intention of going back into the castle."

She didn't say anything for a little while. Vigarde chanced to look at her from the corner of his eye; she was glaring at him. He threw her a hopefully charming smile. She only tsked and turned her head away. Now he only had to wait until she gave in.

Normally he would be the first to give in; Fadia was remarkably stubborn most of the time. But Vigarde had the advantage over her; she was obviously dying to continue reading and while she could be very patient most of the time, situations like this were exceptions. Vigarde was certain that she would crack the book open again in ten minutes. He could wait that long.

At first Fadia was silent. Vigarde avoided to look at her, because that would quicken the process. Instead he looked at the lush trees, the budding flowers, the climbing plants on the castle wall and the horizon.

Then he heard her fingers drumming against the hard cover of the book. He had to suppress a triumphant smile. The first step.

Maybe a few minutes later - he was inspecting a very big ivy tendril - he heard her shifting. She was probably pondering if it was save to open the book again. The second step; he was almost there.

When his gaze was on the tiny hole in the castle wall, next to a bright yellow blossom of a climber, he heard the cracking of the book spine. She was opening it. Now he allowed the triumphant smile to enter his face for a moment. It didn't happen often that he could outdo Fadia in regards to patience.

Vigarde decided to wait for another minute or two; she had to be engrossed in her reading again or she would notice his movements. He stared at the sky while pushing back his smile. He had to look inconspicuous. Ever so slowly he moved his head towards her; not fully, but so that he could look at the pages comfortably while not being obvious.

But first he glanced at her face, of course; a tiny, tiny smile played on her lips. Other people would easily overlook it, but Vigarde knew her expressions too well to not notice it. She seemed to really like this book. Another reason why Vigarde wanted to know what it was; he could use this knowledge later to give her a special treat.

His gaze slowly wandered over her hands - very beautiful, but rough hands - to the yellowish pages. He skimmed the first few lines. Then he frowned. He read further. Vigarde couldn't believe what he was reading.

"'- he grabbed her hand, pressing her delicate white fingers to his lips and whispered against her burning skin: 'My lady, my love will always belong to you, even though we will never be.'," he read aloud as if he could only believe it if he voiced it.

Fadia startled violently, slammed to book close and sprung to her feet. Vigarde looked up at her slightly confused - but still amused - and noticed that her embarrassment crept over her neck into her cheeks. "You read cheesy romance novels?"

"No." Her voice was hard and soft with embarrassment at the same time. Her posture was very rigid and her fingers, clutched around the book, were white. "It- it's just a quote. You just read it out of context." She glared over her shoulder at him, probably trying to shut him up. Vigarde could see that she was not really angry at him but at herself. She had realized that he had waited for her to grow weak and she was angry that she had lost to him. He would have to make that up to her later; she could be in a huff for quite a long time.

But then, he couldn't resist to tease her a bit more. "What kind of book quotes a romance novel?" He saw the gears turning in her head. Fadia was trying to find a good explanation. He waited for maybe a minute; she was still silent and her expression had grown darker. She was almost pouting now.

"You," she hissed, obviously trying to find the right words to wipe that smile off his face. When she found none, she just turned around and walked stiffly back to the castle. Vigarde´s gaze followed her - he would never miss the opportunity to see her backside. Today was a successful day, he decided; he had learned something new about her. Unfortunately, he had to calm her before he could come near her again.

* * *

A few hours later, a shy maid knocked against the door to the princess´ room. She was carrying a little parcel - a rectangular object wrapped in brown paper. Obediently, the maid waited until she heard the princess calling her in.

Fadia was sitting in an armchair, glaring out of one the floor-length windows. She had crossed her legs and arms and the foot dangling in the air made hasty, tapping motions. The maid lowered her gaze and walked over silently.

"Milady?"

"Yes?" Fadia´s voice was calmer than the maid had expected it to be.

"Prince Vigarde sends you this gift." She held the parcel out to the princess. Fadia´s head whirled around; the maid was startled by her sudden anger.

"Bring it back. I don't want it."

"Prince Vigarde predicted that you would say that," the maid said in a meek voice. Fadia´s frown deepened. "I... I am not allowed to bring it back." She stepped back and put the parcel on the coffee table a few feet away from Fadia´s chair. "I will leave it here." She curtsied and walked out of the room quickly.

Fadia looked after her with an apologetic expression. Her anger was not aimed at the poor girl, but it seemed that she had scared her unintentionally.

Her gaze returned to the parcel. The frown deepened again. Jerkily she jumped to her feet and strode over to the table. She picked the gift up; it was rather heavy. Fadia turned it around to inspect it closer. There were no outer clues about the content. Her eyes flickered to the tall windows. It was tempting to throw it out just to show Vigarde what she thought of his attempt to pacify her.

With a tiny sigh, she lowered her gaze on the parcel again. She knew she was overreacting. But still... The glare came back. It didn't mean that she would accept the gift. She threw it on the table again and walked away from it, to the low window on the other side of the room.

She paced restlessly in front of it. Every now and then she threw a glance at the innocent parcel. She was curious. She wondered with what Vigarde tried to calm her anger, but her stubbornness told her not to give in.

Fadia stopped her pacing and her gaze fell to her feet. She was not really angry at _him_; no, they teased each other often and while she had the last word more often, she had nothing against it when he won. It was only fair and she was not a poor loser in general. She was just angry that he had won so easily; she had been too weak and it irked her.

After a long fight, curiosity won and she walked back to the table a bit reluctantly. With an annoyed and yet soft sigh, she gently ripped off the brown paper.

It was a book. Fadia frowned in surprise; she suspected that this is just another way to tease her. When she cracked the book open, a little white card fell on the table. She shut the book again, putting it on the table, and picked up the card.

_'Dear Fadia, after having a surprising epiphany earlier this day-'_

"You little..." She growled lowly.

_'I remembered a book that my mother used to read to me when I was little. She told me that this was the only book I've want to read and even though she tried her best to give me an understanding of other romance novels, I seemed to have refuse it. I still don't like books of this genre, but this one here was always an exception. I want to give it to you and I hope that you'll love it as much as I loved it._

_With love, Vigarde.'_

Fadia slowly lowered the card and looked at the book again. The binding was worn and the golden letters on the front were almost gone. She picked the book up and opened it. The pages were yellow, the ink had faded over the time and there were little tears and dog-ears everywhere. Fadia let her fingers glide over one page; the formerly smooth paper had become rough through the long lasting use.

She flipped through the book; every page told her the same. This had been an important companion of Vigarde. She could see the love he held for this book at the paper.

A gentle smile and a reprimanding frown wanted to enter her face at the same time. How could he give her something so valuable? Why did he have to be so thoughtful and sweet?

Fadia sighed good-natured and went back to the armchair. She huddled against the soft backrest, tucking her legs up, and began to read.


	3. Truth :: VigardeMinna ::

I really don't know why I like to make the Grads suffer. If I could make myself care about Glen, Cormag and the others, I would write angst about them as well, probably. But I don't care about them :D apart from Duessel, who is awesome.

Also, Minna is an OC. I've given all of the brokings wives and Ismaire a husband. They will appear every now and then, since all I seem to write about lately are the brokings and their bro wives. Yay~

Now enjoy the sadness that is Viggy´s life.

* * *

Vigarde hadn't seen his son since his birth.

He had looked at him only once when the nurse had taken him away to clean him. And he hadn't cared about his son at that moment; Vigarde had to stay with his wife, his Minna, who fought for her life. He had sat at her bed, talking to her, comforting her, clutching at her to keep her, to keep her in the realm of the living. He had seen her wither away. He had seen how the last colour was sucked out of her already pale skin, how her cheeks shrunk and how the happiness about finally having born a living child was slowly fading away and was replaced by fear and sorrow.

And then she was gone. And the sight of his struggling and crying Minna would forever be etched into Vigarde´s mind.

Now, three days after Minna´s death, Vigarde was standing next to his son´s crib.

He stared down at the sleeping child; the tiny hands were fisted and his forehead was wrinkled. It was the first time Vigarde could bear to look at his son. He had mourned those last days. He had stayed in his bedroom and had cried. Nobody was allowed to see him; he had needed time to say farewell to the person that had been the most important in his life.

They had been so close. Vigarde had fallen in love with her almost immediately, at that spring ball so many years ago. He could still remember those earrings she had worn; his first words with her were about those earrings.

And then her miscarriage. Vigarde could still vividly remember her smile when she told him that they would have a child. Vigarde had immediately told his friends the happy news and heard that Hayden and his wife expected their first child as well. They were already planning to let them study together when they're older and hoped that they would be friends.

Then Minna´s child died before it could be born. Three months later, Vigarde let his right-hand man write the congratulation letter to Hayden; he refused to visit them.

The baby squirmed slightly. Vigarde put his hand on the crib, rocking it, and the babe grow silent again. He felt nothing when he looked at his son.

Minna and he had grown closer after the miscarriage. They had helped each other to cope with it and it made them stronger. Then Minna announced that she was pregnant again; they promised each other to not be too happy about it yet. They feared another disappointment more than anything. Both had seen what sorrow had done to the other and neither of them wanted to see it ever again. But then, when the magical border was crossed, happiness and joyful anticipation settled in both their hearts. They felt like it could work this time.

Shortly before they announced the second pregnancy, they heard that Renais would get an heir as well. Vigarde was reluctant at first to talk about the children with Fado, even in letters. Maybe the talk had been a bad omen the last time. But soon he let himself become infected by Fado´s elation. And when Minna entered the ninth month and the baby was still healthy, they dared to be openly happy. They were sure that nothing could go wrong anymore. They would finally be a family of three.

Suddenly Vigarde felt water drop on the hand lying on the crib. Startled, he looked at it and another drop of water joined it. He raised his free hand to his face; he was crying. The sudden realization woke him up and he finally noticed what his body was doing; tears were running down his sunken cheeks, his hands were shaking and sobs were pounding against his throat, demanding to be let out. "No..." he whispered and pressed his eyes close. "No!"

It was dead. Minna had cried that it should scream, that it should announce itself to the world. But it was silent, so silent that Vigarde´s ears seemed to burst. He had seen death before and he had hated the sight almost his whole life. But this... this was no comparison to those grown men who knew how they could end. The child was so tiny and looked so normal. Healthy. It should cry and squirm and flail.

But it lay motionless in the nurse´s arms.

Vigarde had almost thrown up that day. But Minna, his darling Minna, was so much more broken than him. She refused to eat for days and he already feared then that she would die. He did everything to keep her, to make her stay with him. He wanted to face this together with her again, because he couldn't do it on his own. He _needed_ her help.

Suddenly, his knee buckled and he landed hard on the stone floor. His head fell against the edge of the crib. He pressed his hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs. But this didn't keep his son from waking up. The babe started crying.

They had pulled through. It had taken them a long time, but they did. Minna never fully recovered from her breakdown and her beautiful face kept the new greyish white colour. In the dark of the night, when he was lying next to his sleeping wife, Vigarde sometimes wondered if the Goddess had taken his child and given it to Fado. Did the Goddess want to mock him by giving his friend two children at once? Vigarde lost his faith then and never fully regained it.

The crying of the babe grated on his ears. Vigarde peeked over the edge of the crib; his son was flailing and angry tears left tiny streaks on his face.

Then Minna had become pregnant again. This pregnancy was filled with anxieties and distress; both were extremely cautious and not just because Minna´s health declined during that time. Both avoided to show any positive feelings towards the baby. And sometimes they even hid their fears from each other.

The babe didn't stop crying. "Shh." Vigarde raised a shaking hand and put it on the babe´s belly, rubbing it slightly. His son didn't stop. Carefully and reluctantly, he lifted his son out of the crib and cradled him. "Shh, be quiet." His voice was laced with sobs. "Please be quiet."

And then she had died. Her child lived and she died.

Vigarde rocked his son and while the babe´s sobs grew quiet, his became louder.

She was gone and only left him this tiny person. She, his wife, his Minna, the person he trusted the most, the person who was so close to him that it felt like she was a part of him. She was gone and he only had this alien person. A person he didn't know. A person that could never replace his Minna.

Was it really worth it? They could've been happy without a child. They didn't need a child to be happy. He would exchange this child for his Minna any time.

"Aah." With a start Vigarde opened his eyes and looked down at his son. He was looking up at Vigarde with his big blue eyes. Eyes that were so familiar. A wave of regret, guilt and self-hate washed over Vigarde.

"Her eyes..." he mumbled and caressed his son´s head with a shaking hand. "Minna´s eyes... You..." He pressed his nose in his son´s hair and sobbed loudly. He felt the babe squirm in his tight embrace.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lyon. I'm sorry..."


	4. Sex :: GeoffreyElincia ::

**This is an M-rated chapter. There is talk about sex and heavy petting. If you do not feel comfortable with sexual topics, please do not continue.**

It was fun to write this. Honestly. 8D After reading too much bad epithets for penis on fanficrants and the clamour that there are far too few fics with happy sex, I knew I had to write some humurous sex one day. This isn't full-blown sex, though, only petting. But they have fun anyway 8D Also, this happens a few years into their marriage, maybe two or three, when Geoffrey and Elincia are completely comfortable in bed and with each other. (So that Geoffrey´s playfulness can come out. Because I do think after he gets over his initial shyness and embarrassement, he would be quite passionate and playful.)

Also, I would love to hear your thoughts about my ability to write sexual scenes. I don't have too much confidence in my skill in this area, so I appreciate comments. Writing sex is damn hard XD

* * *

Elincia felt the darkness called sleep slipping away. Her eyes fluttered open. She was greeted by the white of the pillows and the blanket. With a little sigh she huddled deeper into the soft bed and closed her eyes again; it was all warm and cosy and nice. She pulled the blanket halfway over her head and her knees up to her chest. It was obviously way too early to rise.

Blindly, she patted for her husband. But his side of the bed was empty. She frowned slightly. He was such a nice heat source. Well, he certainly would be back in a few minutes. Elincia sighed happily and sank into a light doze.

She heard low rustling and then the crackling of fire. Someone had lit the fire place. Finally it would grow warmer; the room was way too cold and it wasn't even winter yet.

Maybe a minute after that she heard the sound of bare feet slapping against the stone floor. Then she felt the mattress give way and someone pulled at her blanket. She slid over and lazily laid her arm over his waist.

With a smile, she cracked her eyes open; she stared directly in Geoffrey´s blue ones. He looked as sleepy as she felt.

"Good morning," he mumbled and leaned over to kiss her nose.

"Hmm." She sneaked her arm completely around him and snuggled close. She was slightly surprised to find out that they were both naked. Then the memories of last night came back to her and her confusion was dispelled. A smile crept on her face and she pressed a light kiss on Geoffrey´s throat. She kissed a little path upwards to his chin and down again to his collarbone.

His hands began to wander over her back. "So early?" he asked. Elincia could almost hear his smile. She gently twirled his nipples with her thumbs; he squirmed and she heard the groan he tried to suppress - he was so delightfully sensitive there.

"Oh yes." Suddenly she felt one of his rough hands on her shoulder and he pushed her on her back with a deep, sexy growl. He was not completely lying on her - he propped himself on his elbows so that he didn't crush her - but their skin was touching at the right places. Elincia grinned up at him and grabbed his ass - one of her favourite parts of him.

They kissed for while, exchanged teasing touches and basked in their warm closeness. Then Elincia noticed his erection pressing against her inner thigh. She leaned upwards and whispered in his ear: "It seems your _lance_ is ready for action." She gave his erection a tiny nudge.

He had been kissing her neck before; he froze when he heard her whispered words. He pulled back to look at her. Elincia was confused by his strange expression; did she say something very stupid?

"My... lance?" Elincia blinked slowly. The corners of his mouth twitched. "My..." He bit his upper lip and lowered his head slightly. His shoulders shook. Elincia just wanted to ask what was wrong, when she heard low snickering. "My lance." He rested his forehead on her chest; she felt his giggly shaking and was immediately infected and broke out in giggles as well.

Geoffrey glanced up at Elincia from his position. "Where did you get that from?" He pressed a butterfly kiss to the underside of her left breast - one of her most sensitive spots. Elincia giggled and pulled his head up again to nibble at his bottom lip.

"I have my sources."

"And I don't want to know them?" he asked against her skin, once again kissing a little train from the side of her neck down to her shoulder.

"Yes, you don't." She threw her arms around his neck to play with his hair.

"Alright, then." His mouth wandered over her arm to her delicate fingers. "What shall I do with my... _lance_?" She felt his smile against her palm.

"Well, I would say you will _impale_ me on your _lance_." At that he looked at her with a mock frown.

"But that sounds so painful." He dipped down, and licked and pinched the underside of her breasts with his mouth. She squeaked in delight. "I could never do that to you."

"Then I will be the sheath to your sword."

He snorted and broke down with laughter again. Elincia joined him. "How- how do you come up with- with _that_?" he asked breathlessly between his snickering. She gazed down at him; mirth was dancing in her eyes. Geoffrey looked quite happy with his head lying between her breasts.

"As I said; I have my sources." Geoffrey shook his head, tickling her skin with his hair.

"You're unbelievable." He pulled himself upright again and looked her deep in the eyes. "Who would've known that the Queen of Crimea is so..." He twirled a strand of dark green hair between two fingers and breathed the last word against her lips, "naughty."

"Oh, don't act all innocent!" she retorted mirthfully. "I know that you soldiers are much worse than us noble ladies. You are all uncouth and vulgar." She drew little circles on his skin with her index finger and looked up at him through batted eyelashes. Geoffrey grinned at her roguishly. "Admit it." Their lips were only millimetres apart.

"Mm... Maybe." He tilted his head, rubbing his nose against her cheek.

"Tell me," she breathed into his ear. She saw a shiver running down his spine.

"Very well." He straightened slightly to look her in the eye again; there was a cat-like smile on his face. "Then..." He used his hands to caress her face and push her hair away, "let me draw my _battle axe_ so that I can teach you a lesson."

Elincia tried to keep a straight face and look at Geoffrey in a serious and sexy way, but the giggles were too strong.

"But you always told me that you are bad with axes." Geoffrey threw her a mock-stern look.

"Only because you don't let me practice enough." He poked her side, enticing another giggle from her.

"I would if you would ask me." A predatory glint hushed over Geoffrey´s eyes.

"You will regret that," he whispered and pulled back, disappearing under the blanket. Elincia propped herself up on her elbows, grinning. She felt his hands wander over her thighs.

"Don't tell me that is the only phrase you know." She startled - in a good way - when she suddenly felt his hot lips on her inner thighs. She lifted the blanket slightly; he glanced up at her with a boyish and roguish smile. Before he spoke, he lowered his eyes again and let his rough hands skim over the sensitive underside of her thighs. Elincia´s heartbeat sped up and her whole body tingled.

"Do I have to get my _truncheon_ or will you finally be good?" Elincia broke out into another giggle fit; Geoffrey made everything worse by running his hands over her ticklish spots.

"Geoffrey."

"My _little soldier_ will conquer you." Giggling, she clutched his hair when his mouth wandered upwards. "I will use my _sceptre of Crimea_ to show you who the king is." Snorting with laughter, she tugged gently and he complied, coming out of his hiding place to press a kiss to her lips. Elincia put one arm around his neck, the other wandered downwards.

"_I_ wield the sceptre of Crimea." To prove her point she curled her fingers around his erection. "You just... keep it safe." Geoffrey smiled down at her.

"I see. Maybe you want to ride my _stallion_ later as well?"

"Most definitely." With an impish grin, she threw Geoffrey on his back and mounted him. Enough talking, more action.


	5. Melancholie :: GeoffreyElincia ::

I really, really lost my feeling for this fic :/ I got so emotional while writing it and after editing it a few times, I can't say anymore if it still has an emotional impact or not. I've read it too often now. I'd appreciate some input, if you want to.

The song I used is "Melancholie" by In Extremo. It's not their text; it's an old song written in Old French. I've tried to find the original, but I actually didn't find out what the original is called :P Anyway, try to find it on youtube. It's beautiful. (I would give you a link, but I can't look at any video because of the lovely EU restriction [)

Anyway! Just enjoy :D

* * *

The day was truly beautiful; there was no strong wind, barely any clouds obstructed the view and it was warm.

It was painful.

Geoffrey´s hands clasped the reins tightly. His uniform was stiff and uncomfortable. He was in pain. Not only because he was old and his bones ached every day, no. It was the stark contrast between the weather and the occasion.

He stared straight ahead. He would not move. Every tiny movement could break him.

The street before him was a black and blue mass; the houses were bedecked with cloths, flower decorations hang from every window and the people were standing close to the houses so that they didn't block the path of the procession.

Elincia´s death procession.

And Geoffrey was the head of that procession. Only one horse length behind him were his children, all in black and blue mourning dresses. They were not allowed to ride beside him. He wished that he could see them. They could remind him of old times when they still had been whole.

Behind them was Elincia, trapped in that wooden box. The children had decorated it with her favourite flowers. It was beautiful in a horrible way. Geoffrey had avoided to look at it; he had only seen it once when his grandchild had asked him to place a paper flower on it for her.

He heard the wood creaking. He heard the light shifting on the hand barrow. It grated on his ears and reminded him every second that she was dead.

He knew that the rest of the procession was there - nobles, knights, squires. He felt their presences, and the sound of their feet slapping against the ground and the low mumbling was pushing against his back like an invisible hand. They made him move. He felt helpless, like a puppet. He didn't want to see the end and the coffin disappearing in the tomb. He wasn't ready to let Elincia go.

The instruments of the musicians rattled slightly and shook him out his thoughts; Geoffrey had to sing the funeral song during the ride to the royal tombs. He had spent days trying to learn it. He had had to stop so often because a lump had pressed his throat close every time he reached the chorus.

He had never cried so much in his whole life as in those short days.

As soon as his horse´s hooves met the hard cobble, the first musicians started to play: a guitar and a barrel-organ were first. A violin soon joined them and together they filled the air with a crying melody. The drums were quiet and dull.

Geoffrey had to start. The procession would answer. He didn't want to; he didn't trust his voice. But he had no choice.

_"Temps de doleur et de temptacion_

_Aages de plour, d´ envie et de tourment_

_Temps de langour et de dampnacion_

_Aages meneur près du definement"_

His voice was coarse.

As one, the people following him repeated his words; the air vibrated with their combined voices and the sudden pressure on his ears was deafening. He wanted to shut himself out and mourn alone.

Why had Elincia had to die first? Geoffrey had never expected to outlive her. He was a soldier; he had been a soldier his whole life. He had expected to die in the rebellion of Thumbria. He had expected to die from the fever caused by the nasty leg wound he received in the skirmish of Donlan. He had every reason to die first.

But she left before him.

Before every battle he had prayed that should he die Elincia should go on and be happy. He had never asked the Goddess to save his life but to keep his family safe.

_"Toute lèesse deffaut_

_Tous cueurs ont prins par aussaut_

_Tristesse et merencolie"_

He was the last one.

Uncle Renning had died a long time ago. Back then Elincia had led the procession. Geoffrey had been following her; she had had difficulties to sing the song. He had wanted to help her, but he couldn't even reach out to her. She had been crying the whole time. Geoffrey had noticed that her citizens had lowered their heads respectfully at their queen´s display of emotion. He knew that her people loved her.

He wasn't sure if they want to seem him cry. Would they think badly of him if he did?

The combined voices tried to drown Geoffrey´s thoughts and memories.

Uncle Renning had died of old age, lying in bed. Would that be Geoffrey´s fate as well? He was old now. His hair was white and his bones ached when the air was cold or humid. He hadn't touched a lance in years. That was not a knight´s death. The only honourable death is the death in battle. The most shameful thing that could happen to a knight was to be restrained to a bed and wait for death. Geoffrey had never wanted that; he had wanted to die in battle like his father. But he wouldn't. He was locked up in the castle; he would never see the battlefield again. How had Uncle Renning felt while lying in his bed, unable to do anything but counting the days, minutes, seconds until the end?

_"Temps plains d´orreur qui tout fait faussement_

_Aages menteur, plain d´orgueil et d´envie_

_Temps sanz honeur et sanz vray jugement_

_Aage en tristour qui abrege la vie"_

Something pressed against his throat; he tried to swallow the lump but it only grew bigger. He tried to breathe deeper; sobs mingled with the air when he exhaled again. Something pressed against his eyes from the inside. He wanted to throw up.

Geoffrey had wished to grow old with Elincia, of course. He was happy with her and even though they had been married for so many years, it felt like they had met just yesterday.

The voices raised again when they passed the last street corner and the path opened up to plane fields.

He truly was the last; Bastian and Lucia had died years ago. They had died in battle while defending Delbray from the invading lord of Cheltos. Geoffrey almost envied them. Everyone would remember them as heroes who died while protecting their home and their people. But he? The reign would be directly passed on to his son and he would be forgotten.

Their son, who had not become the warrior Lucia had hoped he would be, had taken over Fayre. He would be remembered for being their son and for being a good leader. Geoffrey´s children would be remembered as the children of the great Queen Elincia, who had deliberated Crimea and fought the Goddess. But Geoffrey? He had never played a big role and now he wouldn't even have a memorable death.

He felt lonely.

_"Toute lèesse deffaut_

_Tous cueurs ont prins par aussaut_

_Tristesse et merencolie"_

His voice almost broke. They were almost there. He felt tears running down his cheeks. Where did they come from?

All those years together with his wife, his love, his confidant. Why did they have to be over? How could he already be so old? How could their life together be over already? He wanted those days back. He didn't want to be alone and wait for his death like a coward, holed up in a cold room, growing smaller every waking hour. When had life become a burden?

He was alone. What was left for him to do other than just existing?

"Father?"

The voice, set apart from the choir, startled him. A young voice, not as hoarse and broken as his own. Unused to many days of yelling, commanding and crying. So much Geoffrey´s opposite.

It felt like someone had slapped him and he opened his eyes for the first time in months. In the corner of his eyes he saw his worried son catching up with him despite knowing that it violated tradition.

He was not alone.

"I will watch them, Elincia," he whispered to himself, pressing his eyes close tightly. "And then I will tell you everything they did when we meet again. I promise."


	6. Complicated :: FemSethEirika ::

FemSeth/Eirika is delicious~ I kinda wish Seth had been a woman in canon 8D It would've been so much fun. I will just dedicate this to nagasasu here; mostly because she unintentionally made me write this. So, here have a short interaction.

Sophia is my name for FemSeth.

* * *

"Sophia," the princess asks with a soft voice. The knight looks up from her task, her long red hair falling forwards over her shoulder. She raises one eyebrow in question. Eirika tilts her head slightly and walks over; she is clad in a thin summer dress, which hugs her every curve. Sophia drops her gaze to the sword in her hand and slowly moves the rag with the polish up and down the soon-to-be shiny metal.

"Good day, Princess," she responds in a voice just as low. When Eirika´s feet and legs enter her field of vision, Sophia puts the sword aside and stands up. She is taller than the princess; Eirika has to tilt her head back to look Sophia in the eye. Sophia bows and grabs Eirika´s hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.

Eirika chuckles and Sophia looks up at her; a beautiful smile and an amused look are on her face. She always found Sophia´s almost male mannerisms amusing. Sophia drops her gaze again and straightens. "My lady?"

Eirika looks around. Then she gently pulls Sophia´s face down to her and presses a light kiss on her ruby red lips. The kiss lingers. Sophia´s hands yearn to clasp around the princess and pull her close, but they don't. Far too soon Sophia pulls back. Eirika still smiles, now with hint of happiness. Unconsciously, Sophia mirrors that smile.

"I'll see you later, yes?" Eirika asks, her left hand lingering on Sophia´s cheek. She tucks the stray red hair behind her ear.

"If it is my lady´s wish."

"It is." Eirika lets her hand slide down Sophia´s face, tracing the sharp curve of her jaw, and then turns to leave. As soon as the door falls close Sophia sighs and sits back down, reaching for the sword, and quickly makes to finish her remaining tasks.


	7. Kink :: GeoffreyElincia ::

**This is an M-rated chapter for sex. Do not read if you do not like to read about sexual situations.**

Also called "things I have lying on my computer for ages". XD If it were newer, it probably would've had a different pairing. Anyway, I thought I need to update this. Have fun with some Geoffrey/Elincia and comments on my (barely existing) smut writing abilities are very welcome.

* * *

Neither of them had known of the hidden space behind the drapery. They had thought that the drapery was just decoration, that it should just hide the dirty grey of the stones. The space was not big; maybe three average men could stand in it without feeling cramped.

Neither Geoffrey nor Elincia knew why the architect had designed this hiding place. Or what the purpose of it was. However, both were sure that it was not intended to be used as a place where you can sex up your lover. Still, neither of them cared for the reason of its existence, while Geoffrey pressed Elincia hard against the wall and slammed into her. Her skirt was hitched up and her legs clasped around him; only the wall and Geoffrey´s strong arms supported her.

Geoffrey had been hesitant at first; they could easily be discovered. Elincia was not the quietest person in bed and while the throne room was normally empty at this time, nervousness tickled under his skin. It made him so much more conscious about every touch and what it did to him and to Elincia.

Elincia seemed to feel the same; she moaned even louder than usual as her fingers ran through and tugged at his hair in ecstasy. She arched her back and moved her hips to meet his thrusts.

Geoffrey kissed up and down her neck, squeezed her buttocks and still strained his ear to listen to any suspicious noises. Elincia´s moaning and her hands on his face, neck and chest were distracting him, but he at least tried. She pulled his face to her and they shared a wet and deep kiss. Even though the risk was high, the sex felt incredible.

Suddenly they heard a loud creak. They froze.

"Queen Elincia?" someone asked loudly. Geoffrey stared at Elincia, breathing too loud for his taste. His heartbeat pounded against his eardrums and his skin tickled. He was horrified – so many thoughts darted through his head; had they heard them, did they know about this hidden place, would they search here? – and ... turned on.

"She is not here, Count Fayre." It was a male voice.

Elincia was looking back at him with big eyes. He knew instinctively from the spark in her eyes that she was feeling the same way.

"Tis truly strange, my Lord. I saw her entering and the guards didn't see her leave," Bastian answered.

Geoffrey almost shivered with nervousness and lust. His whole body tingled, his blood was rushing through him. His skin grew hot and overly sensitive; Elincia´s hands, her breath on his cheek and her legs around his middle were burning touches. The heat around his cock was almost unbearably arousing.

"What a nuisance!" the unknown man exclaimed. It sounded as if the man came closer.

"Geoffrey?" Elincia whispered. He blinked slowly. Nothing happened; they only stared each other in the eye, bathing in this arousing heat.

They heard feet slapping against the marble ground. "Queen Elincia?"

Geoffrey slammed into her once. Surprised she gasped loudly.

"What was that?"

They were still again.

"My lord?"

"Did you not hear it? I thought I heard someone breathe."

Elincia answered with a sharp thrust of her hip. Geoffrey swallowed a moan.

"There!" the man exclaimed and they heard him walking towards their hiding place. "There was something again!"

Elincia roughly pulled Geoffrey to her and gave him a hard kiss. Promptly he thrust into her, hard. The kiss muffled their sounds. He was glad that he hadn't taken off his trousers – he had only bared the part of him that was necessary for sex –, otherwise the slapping of skin against skin would have betrayed them.

"My lord, are you sure that you did not imagine the voice? The room is empty." The first man´s step came closer and closer.

Geoffrey sped up; Elincia adjusted her hips to grant him easier access and to let him in deeper.

"I can assure you, Count Fayre, that I am perfectly well and I'm not hearing voices."

The man was so close now that Geoffrey had the feeling that he was standing directly next to him. A shiver ran over his spine and the thrill gathered in his balls; he was close, so close to orgasm. Elincia´s clenching around his cock told him that she was close as well.

"My lord, it was not my intention to imply any madness on your part," Bastian answered and the other man huffed.

Geoffrey´s eyes darted from Elincia´s face to the drapery. It moved. He could see the outline of an elbow.

The thrill was almost too much. It drove him so close to the edge. Suddenly he felt Elincia clench around him and her finger scratched over his scalp. He thrust into her orgasm, trying to prolong it as long as he could; the clenching felt so good.

"My lord, maybe we should look in the gardens. I've heard that sometimes our darling Queen likes to escape through the servants´ corridors."

"Hn. Well..."

In the corners of his eyes Geoffrey saw the drapery move again. He felt the familiar pressure and tickle at the base of his cock; he was close, so freaking close. Their kiss grew wild and almost painful when Elincia bit on his tongue. The pain shot another thrill down his spine.

"Alright, let us go." The man moved away from them; Geoffrey´s movements became frantic. The door creaked again and with the closing slam, Geoffrey came.

They remained standing for a while, trying to calm their racing hearts. Elincia leaned her head against Geoffrey´s, who rested his forehead on her shoulder.

"Geoffrey?" Elincia mumbled breathlessly. He slowly raised his head; she pushed his sweaty hair from his face and smiled. She looked more than satisfied. "We have to do that again."

He only nodded and pressed a kiss to her lips.


	8. A Good Bump to the Head :: FadoHayden ::

A short, maybe-onesided piece to get me started. It's kinda strange to really start writing slash. It feels kinda new and shiny. So shiny that I don't know where to start XD Oh man. Well, there'll be more Fado/Hayden in the future (also Fadia/Hayden-ness). BTW, both Fado and Hayden are 15-ish.

* * *

Fado´s head throbbed painfully. And it was dark, very dark. He frowned; why was it dark? He noticed that something was in his hair, tugging at it and pressing it down. He grumbled lowly. There was a noise – it sounded a bit like a voice – and more tugging. Fado hummed. It actually felt kinda nice. Whatever that was. Maybe it was something bad... he shouldn't be this calm. But he couldn't bring himself to care. Besides, he felt a bit dizzy and his head light. And whatever was raking through his hair was really nice... and gentle. Well, a bit rough as well, but still nice. Fado sighed comfortably.

Something pushed his head to the side; Fado didn't like that and growled. The noise grew louder, kinda like a jump in the sound... or something. The whatever glided over the back of his head. Fado hm-ed with contentment when it gently scraped over his sensitive nape. The thing ghosting over his head stopped and Fado pursed his lips disappointed. His head was put down again.

Suddenly, completely out of nowhere, Fado noticed that his eyes were closed. Why did he not notice that? How strange. But then his mind felt so heavy and slow and it was like he was wrapped up in cotton. He tried to pry his eyes open, but they were so _heavy_. And glued together. He struggled for so unbelievably long (and was distracted by the whatever stroking behind his ears), but finally, finally he managed to look.

And everything was blurry. And it made his head hurt even more. Fado groaned. At least there was something above him that blocked out the light. Whatever that was; it was also blurry. He squinted, strained his eyes to at least make out some outlines. The whatever moved around again – which made looking harder, dammit – and there was something grey and there was skin and... it might be a face. Fado hm-ed. Yah, that could be a face.

Pain jolted through him and he yelped. There was noise again and the something left his head. A tiny bit Fado missed it. The thing above him disappeared for a second again, which Fado didn't like. It had felt like he was being protected and now he was left alone in this state? Very uncomfortable.

Then the thing returned and Fado sighed happily. And the something raking through his hair was back so he was even more happy. Slowly blinking, he let the whatever press something else on his head. It was confusing, but hm, Fado was distracted. It also did sting a bit, but well, that happens. Fado rather watched that thing above him through eyes half shut.

His gaze grew slowly, very slowly clearer. And he detected that it was skin and that there was a person leaning over him. He had no idea who that was, but he or she seemed nice, yes. Fado sighed again. Lazily and strangely comforted, he let his gaze roam over the face; or at least the lower part because he couldn't move his head. The person was still pressing something on his head and holding him tight (and no longer stroking him!).

There was a chin... yes, a chin. Was it big? Fado couldn't tell. But it was there. That was good, yes. Fado´s gaze wandered a bit higher – the pressure on his head decreased for a few seconds but returned stronger afterwards. A movement on the face – the twitching of the mouth – drew his gaze to it.

Fado wondered if he knew those lips; they didn't seem that unfamiliar. But maybe that was just because his mind was still so fuzzy and he couldn't remember much anyway. Hm, the lips were thin, very thin. The lower lip was a bit bigger but it was barely noticeable. Just to Fado. Or maybe he was imagining it; that was also plausible. They didn't look like girls´ lips. No, Fado knew girls´ lips. Oh, he knew them well, yes, yes. They were always painted; red or pink. It was pretty but also stuck to his lips and so everybody knew when he had snagged a lady to have fun with her (and they loved to come because he was a great kisser). No, those lips were not painted. And they were pale. Not very dark, no. Fado frowned a bit. He didn't remember lips that pale. At least not on a girl. He would've noticed it. Very strange.

The pressure on his head lessened again. The lips disappeared for a second and Fado did not like it; he was just investigating them! But they quickly returned so he was pacified. A smile settled on his face.

They truly did not look like girls´ lips. And Fado knew girls´ lips but not those. Now that made him curious. He wondered how they would feel like; girls´ lips were often very soft and nice. Even though the paint was often annoying (they should give them some nice flavour, oh yes). Would they be hard? Could lips even feel hard? Would he even feel them? So many questions flew through his head; it made everything look so blurry again. And his head felt so dizzy again.

Maybe he should just try. Yes, that was a good idea. And the pressure was not there anymore, so he leaned upwards and placed his lips on the ones above him, almost missing his target. The person froze and didn't return Fado´s kiss but he didn't particularly care. He just want to feel those lips. And they were nice, very nice. Not as soft as the girls´ but also nice. Not hard, no. Different but in a good way. He'd like to do that again when his mind was clearly again.

With a contented sigh, he lowered his head again. It was all so dizzy and nice and his gaze blurred and his head spun and everything became black again.

#

Hayden was frozen in shock. With wide eyes he stared down at Fado, who had passed out again. The bleeding from the head wound he got when he fell from the tree – why did he always try to trump Hayden in everything? – had finally stopped. The bloodied handkerchief was still in Hayden´s hand, hovering near the wound. Hayden blinked slowly and sat back. His heart slammed against his chest and his own blood seemed to boil and thump against his eardrums. His face felt so hot.

Swallowing hard, he pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit because this was all so very weird, and walked back to the castle to alert his guardian that Fado was hurt. All the while trying to calm his heart and banishing this experience from his mind because this felt far too good to be normal.


	9. Man sieht sich immer zweimal im Leben

Part 1 of the looooooong, long story I had planned for those two. I don't know if I'll ever finish it (I do have at least one unfinished and one finished part lying around, but both are more or less in the middle, so, uhm, yeah) Anyway, I quite love how the second part turned out. Somehow I love writing about Vigarde and his interactions with his father (nothing surprising here) and Fadia´s relationship with her father, which is pretty... special anyway. Well, at least I plan to make it maybe special. I haven't completely decided on my headcanon for her. It might already be my headcanon for Fado though 8D

Also, despite this being part of the Lover's Challenge, there's no love yet XD Oh my.

Btw, Vigarde and Fadia are 12 and 10 respectively in the first part.

* * *

_The year 766, Summer_

"Who are you?"

The bright and unfamiliar voice startled Vigarde from his reading; he looked up confused. Next to him, standing on the sandy path, was an unknown girl. She had her hands fisted on her hips and frowned down at Vigarde, who was sitting on the dry grass. Her lips were slightly pursed and a light turquoise strand of hair fell over her eyes; the rest was tied back.

"Who are you?" she repeated, her voice carrying an annoyed undertone. A frown crept on Vigarde´s face; the question was not who he was but who was that girl? She was in _his_ garden, _his_ home and _his_ country. Well, his father´s country, home and garden, but he would be emperor one day so it was his as well. She had no right to demand to know his name.

"Who are _you_?" he retorted and shut his book. Vigarde stood up and noticed that she was almost a whole head shorter than him. She looked very small and petite in her dark blue dress, but her gaze was strong and stubborn.

She stuck her chin out defiantly and straightened, trying to make herself seem taller. Vigarde did not let her make any impression on him; she was just an impolite girl who had dared to be snotty to the prince of Grado. "I am Fadia." She stared at him; it was obvious that it was his turn now. But he had no intention in telling her his name; impoliteness should not be encouraged.

"I see. You can leave now." Hopefully that would make it clear that she was not welcome here and who the superior person was. He turned away to walk over to the stone bench at the low castle wall.

He didn't really believe that it was over now, but he had to admit that he hadn't thought that she would push him to the ground. For a second he was so dazed that he barely felt the edge of his book poking his chest.

He turned his head around. She had crossed her arms in front of her chest. But what was really infuriating was that almost-smile on her face. His fingers dug deep into the soft earth. With a deep growl he pushed himself up. He wished that she weren't a girl so he could repay that shove with a nice right punch. But he couldn't hit a girl; his father would punish him severely if he did that.

"I don't care who you are but if you do that again, you'll regret it!"

"Ha! You're just a bigmouth. I'm stronger than you."

Vigarde clenched his hands angrily. She still dared to speak back to him. And she even believed that she was stronger than him! Him, the prince of Grado, who was being educated by the best and most well-known scholars and soldiers in Magvel. "Now listen, you-"

"Fadia!" A male voice interrupted them. Both kids startled and Fadia whirled around. Two men appeared between the trees; Vigarde recognized his father, but not the man accompanying him. The man wore a dark blue and golden uniform so he must be someone important – his hair brilliantly white stood oddly out to Vigarde.

"Father," Fadia said and jogged over to him. Vigarde stared after her, frowning. This couldn't end well.

"Vigarde, I see you've already met Princess Fadia," the emperor said. Vigarde could barely keep his face straight; she was a princess! That snotty brat? "Vigarde, this is King Henry of Renais and his daughter." Vigarde bowed deeply; he didn't think that _she_ deserved this, but he wouldn't embarrass his father. "King Henry, Princess Fadia, this is my son Vigarde."

"Good day, young man," the king said in a deep baritone voice and they shook hands. Fadia curtsied.

"It is an honour to meet you," she said with a sweet smile. Vigarde had to do a double take. Was that still the same audacious girl from a few minutes ago? The smile grew sly when her father turned away from her. Vigarde bristled slightly. That girl was really-! He didn't know what she was, but she sure got under his skin.

"King Henry and his men will stay here for a few days and then continue their journey back home." The emperor turned to Vigarde again. "I trust you will keep Princess Fadia company?" Highly unwilling, Vigarde nodded.

A broad grin spread over Fadia´s face. "I challenge you to a match." Vigarde startled at her request. "You don't believe that I'm stronger than you – which I am – so I have to prove you wrong." She took a step forward; her whole stance expressed confidence and battle lust. "I'll let you choose our weapons."

Vigarde pursed his lips slightly. Fine, if she really wanted to, he would teach her a lesson. "If you want to lose so badly, I'll gladly accept." A trace of red anger appeared on her cheeks.

"Fadia." She startled as if she remembered something and whirled around to her father.

"Father, may Prince Vigarde and I hold a sparring match?" Her father was looking at her sternly. She seemed shy now.

"You are supposed to ask _before_ you challenge someone."

"I'm sorry, father." She lowered her gaze.

"Yes, you may." Fadia grinned broadly while the king threw a short glance to Vigarde´s father, who frowned but nodded.

"Thank you, father!" Fadia exclaimed and turned to Vigarde with a confident and excited look. "We will meet in half an hour in the courtyard." Before the last word had completely left her mouth, she already spun on her heels and sped away. Vigarde stared after her for a second. Why did she make the rules? This was his territory. He growled lowly and began to run. He would be ready before her!

To his great dismay, Vigarde lost this race; Fadia was already standing in the courtyard when he arrived. She wore a light doublet as well as leather gloves; she had changed out of her dress and almost looked like a boy in her training gear. Her sword was thin and made for quick lunges. Vigarde´s sword was much heavier; a typical sword in Grado style – perfect for close combat, but the holder needed more strength to swing it. At least here Vigarde felt that he had won; he was definitely stronger than her.

"What took you so long?" Fadia asked. Vigarde grumbled lowly. "You don't let a lady wait."

"I don't see any lady around," he retorted lowly so that nobody but her could hear him. His father wouldn't appreciate any impolite speech against the princess of a neighbouring country. Fadia glared at him – he smiled triumphantly.

"Are you finally ready, _Prince_ Vigarde?" She raised her sword, pointing the tip between Vigarde´s eyes.

"Yes," he hissed back and they took up their duel position. A soldier who had accompanied Vigarde acted as referee. Vigarde grabbed his sword tightly with both hands. He didn't like that look in her eyes; that confidence and ambition irked him like nothing else.

"Go!"

She lunged forward. Startled – he hadn't really expected her to storm in like that – he brandished his sword to block her. She immediately jumped back again.

"Are your thoughts still with your book?" she taunted and resumed her attack stance. Vigarde´s face distorted into an angry grimace. Nobody was allowed to make fun of him. With a loud yell, he attacked.

The battle was quick, short and had an unexpected ending, at least for Vigarde. He found himself lying flat on his back with the tip of a sword at his neck. Chest heaving, he looked up at Fadia. She had a huge and in his eyes arrogant smile on her face. "I told you so," she whispered. Embarrassment and anger shot into his cheeks and his fingers clawed into the ground. Anger that was directed at himself and at her; he felt the gazes of the knights who had trained in the courtyard on the back of his head and in his mind he could already hear their sniggering and laughing. He was publicly embarrassed – he was just beat by a girl younger and shorter than him. He could never look any soldier in the eye again.

Fadia stepped back and sheathed her sword. Vigarde pushed himself to his feet and dusted his clothes off. His cheeks were still burning.

Suddenly they heard clapping from their left. With deep horror Vigarde saw his father applauding. He stiffened visibly. "Very good!" his father called over from the guarded position under a balcony, where he and Fadia´s father were standing. Fadia grinned and curtsied. Vigarde just wanted the earth to swallow him right now.

And when they walked over to their fathers and Fadia started to recount their fight to them in painstaking detail, he wanted the earth to eat her as well.

###

_The year 775, Summer_

The wind beat against his ears in a steady rhythm as his troupe descended the last hill in full gallop. Squinting his eyes, Vigarde could already discern Grado Keep against the sun. They would be home in less than an hour, he guessed. He gave a loud yell, spurred his horse faster and heard his men answer him with relieved calls.

When they reached the foot of the hill, Vigarde could discern the red roof of the throne hall on the very top of the castle; the tiles seemed to burn in the noon sun. Vigarde worried what his father would say about their lateness. They were expecting King Henry of Renais and his daughter and the many tents Vigarde spotted when they reached the main road told him that they unfortunately had already arrived. His mission had been unexpected and an emergency, but he still found it impolite to be absent when such high and rare visitors came.

He did not exactly find it sad that Princess Fadia didn't visit more often. He could still remember the day she embarrassed him. Nor did he want to forget it since the memory had served as a great motivation. Only thanks to that defeat he was where he was now. Retrospectively, it had knocked a good portion of arrogance out of him. Maybe he should thank her for that.

The main road led directly past the big camp of Renaitian soldiers; only few were stationed there though and Vigarde did not long have to wonder why. As soon as his horse´s hooves slammed onto the streets of Grado Capital, he heard cheers and saw showmen and -women, jugglers, singers, dancers and food vendors along the road and in the side streets. He signalled his men to follow him through an empty side street; the main road to the castle would surely be full of booths and people enjoying the welcoming tournament.

Vigarde slowed his troupe when the main gate appeared in his field of vision; the main street was indeed completely full and he contemplated for a moment if it wouldn't be easier to take another entrance. The guards, however, had already seen him.

"Make way!" they called and directed (or pushed) the people out off the street. "Make way for the prince!" Since the decision was already taken out of his hands, Vigarde gestured his men to follow him slowly. The visitors seemed to be a bit disgruntled at the rough treatment of the guards, but politely bowed to Vigarde when he passed them.

The front courtyard was a complete mess; common people were running around, pages and squires calling and searching for their masters, horses neighing loudly. The jousting range was on the left side of the court yard and a bit more orderly; the place was surrounded by a high fence to protect the people from stray horses and chips from broken shields and lances. Behind the fence were three rows with hastily build seats; there was not one inch unoccupied. Opposite of Vigarde´s position close to the gate was the royal gallery, slightly higher and better situated than the other private galleries of the nobles. Even from here he could discern his father (he always wore the same and certainly unique uniform at such events) – the man with brilliant white hair next to him was surely King Henry.

Vigarde leaned over to his second-in-command. "John, take over the troupe. I'll see the emperor directly." The black-haired man nodded and called several orders over his shoulder. Vigarde meanwhile pushed his horse through the mass of people towards the royal gallery. The pages waiting next to the stairs immediately recognized him and took his horse when he dismounted. Vigarde barely nodded to them before hastening up the stairs. Pushing back the heavy purple curtain separating this gallery from the stands around them, he stepped onto the porch.

"Good day, father," he announced loudly. The occupants of the gallery turned to look at him almost simultaneously.

"Vigarde!" the emperor exclaimed and stood up to shake hands. King Henry remained sitting. Vigarde shook hands and bowed to his father. Then he walked over to the King of Renais.

"I fear I cannot stand at the moment," the old man said with a smile and only offered his hand. "My bones are forsaking me."

"Of course, Your Highness, feel at ease," Vigarde answered and bowed again. A quick glance around told him that a few of his cousins and several visitors of Renais were sat around them; he greeted them only shortly. During that time another chair was brought for him and placed to his father´s left. He suppressed a tired sigh when he sat down.

"You have missed quite a few spectacular fights," King Henry noted with a friendly nod to Vigarde.

"My son had important business to do in Seranhem," the emperor said. "Truly a shame that this had to happen now."

"Please accept my apologies for my lateness," Vigarde said with a bowed head, more to his father than to King Henry. "We were delayed at Lothin and had to make camp there."

"I hope your mission was successful," King Henry just answered.

"Indeed it was." Vigarde threw a short glance towards his father. The look in his eyes confirmed his guess; they would talk about it later and alone.

"If you've been in the mountains," King Henry began thoughtfully, "your journey must've been a hard one. You should rest and not sit around here with us old and boring men."

"It is truly no effort for me. A little bite and a goblet of wine will fix me well enough."

"That you will have," the emperor said and gestured to a servant who nodded and disappeared behind the curtains. Vigarde relaxed then and leaned back, letting his gaze roam over the jousting range. Two squires were collecting pieces of their master´s broken weapons.

"King Henry, may I ask where your daughter is?" Vigarde asked after a while. "I thought she would come with you."

"Fadia? Ah, she's here somewhere," the king said and looked around, making a little wave with his hand to his right, "I haven't seen her for a while but she'd never leave before the tournament ends. She is probably with our men, supporting them. Their morale is much higher when she is with them." He laughed lowly. Vigarde nodded and was a bit surprised by his answer, though when he compared it to his few memories of her, it didn't sound too improbable. She hadn't changed much then. Any further thoughts on this matter, though, were intercepted by the sight of food and drink and so he contented himself with watching jousting matches.

For maybe an hour he sat there and listened to his father and the king´s conversations. A few times he added his evaluations of the matches and the fighters, but he never became a real part of the discourse.

Suddenly a new warrior caught Vigarde´s attention. The squires had finished cleaning up the range and two new fighters entered. One of them Vigarde recognized – he was a rather well-known knight from Grado – but the other one was... different. He wore bright green armour – obviously a great handiwork with golden accents – and carried a bare iron lance with him (the Gradian knight had the handkerchief of his lady tight around the tip of his lance). But the thing that had caught Vigarde´s attention was that the unknown knight seemed so much younger and thinner than the Gradian knight; he couldn't be older than sixteen or seventeen. That such a boy dared to challenge a seasoned warrior was not brave but stupid. Vigarde hmpf-ed; the boy obviously wanted to lose.

King Henry laughed loudly. Curiously, Vigarde turned to him; he hadn't paid attention to their conversation so he didn't know if he laughed about something his father said or if he had thought the same as Vigarde.

"How about a little bet?" the king asked suddenly. Vigarde raised his eyebrows; he hadn't thought that King Henry was a gambler. "I bet that this Renaitian knight unhorses your knight at the latest in the third round."

The emperor snorted amused. "King Henry, do you want to lose your money so badly?" The king laughed in return.

"Trust me. You will be the one to lose."

"Hn. Very well, I accept." They shook hands just as the horn signalling the start of the fight sounded. Curiously and with their full attention, Vigarde and his father followed the fight.

In the first round both their lances broke, but neither of them fell. When they returned to their starting points, their pages offered them new lances. In the second round, both swayed but no lances broke. The small green knight clutched tightly at his saddle to keep himself upright.

"Almost," the emperor said with a triumphant quirk in his voice.

"But only almost," the king returned confidently. Vigarde straightened in his seat and involuntarily leaned forward as the contestants raised their lances again. The horn called, the fighters kicked their horses into gallop. Dirt and splinters flew high as they thundered towards each other.

With a loud crack the Renaitian knight´s lance broke against the Gradian knight´s shield – his didn't. Both were fighting for balance when they passed each other and the audience already wanted to cheer for the Gradian knight for gaining a point. They fell silent halfway through. The green knight quickly had regained his footing and galloped towards the end in a straight position. The Gradian knight, however, struggled, and lost; he fell backwards and slammed on the hard ground. A collective gasp of surprise was heard – Vigarde sucked in a shocked breath as well.

Then the audience roared with ardour and the green knight rode back to his squire, raising his lance in triumph. Vigarde joined the applause as soon as he collected his thoughts. With half an ear, he heard the king and the emperor talk about the wager (his father sounded quite disgruntled). He rather watched the green knight dismount; it was astonishing that such a young and small man could beat such an skilful and seasoned knight. Whoever he was, Vigarde wanted to get to know him.

The audience cheered even louder when the Gradian knight stepped forward again and challenged the newcomer to a duel with the sword. Vigarde had the notion that this fight would not end differently and he was proven right; the green knight emerged victoriously once again.

When the referee, the lord of Leifhem, entered the jousting range to congratulate the winner and discuss his prize with him, Vigarde made to stand up since he wanted to meet the young man right now. He took leave of his father and the king, who had an amused twinkle in his eyes, as the green knight and the Lord were talking. Vigarde had just reached the stairs when the horn resounded two times; he stopped surprised and turned to the range again. The lord was holding up his hands, signalling that he had an announcement to make.

"Our contestant from Renais has decided on a prize!" The audience cheered again. Curious, Vigarde remained where he was. "He desires no payment from Sir Reginald of Greffen. No, the only thing he asks for is a duel with the Imperial Prince of Grado himself!" Vigarde felt a jolt of surprise shooting through his veins. Suddenly all eyes were on the royal gallery and then on him. He searched the green knight´s gaze, which was still hidden under his helmet. "Prince Vigarde, will you grant our winner this wish?"

The audience cheered and called for him. His lips twitched upwards when he stepped forward to the low railing of the gallery. "It would be my pleasure!" he called back and the audience almost exploded with jubilation. Amused, he turned and walked down to the range, collecting his sword and helmet from his squire on the way, and entered the arena under the calls and whistles of the people.

He first shook hands with the Lord of Leifhem, then with the Renaitian knight. "What is your name?" The man only cracked a smile in return. Vigarde knitted his brows.

"His name is Farian of Renais, my Prince," the lord answered. Vigarde quirked an eyebrow and threw a sideways glance at the knight. When the man did nothing, Vigarde huffed inwardly. The knight´s manners were disappointing.

"Very well then, Sir Farian," Vigarde said. "It is an honour to fight with you." The green knight bowed his head.

They took up their fighting stance and the audience quickly grew quiet. Vigarde breathed shallow and short under his helmet, his low visor throwing his used air back at him. Tightening his grip on his sword, he impatiently waited for the call.

The horn sounded and he lunged. Farian´s block and counter was quick, but did not catch Vigarde unaware; he sidestepped and lunged again. They exchanged blows and counters rapidly and when a minute had passed with neither of them gaining the upper hand, Vigarde got a strange feeling of deja-vu. He felt like he had seen this technique, this way of lunging and the footwork somewhere before.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain at his hand – before he knew what had happened, his sword flew to the side and a sword was at his throat. Heart beating loudly against his eardrums, he froze. He saw his opponent´s chest heaving as well and his mouth, which was not hidden behind a visor like Vigarde´s was, was wide open to take in all the air it could get. The horn sounded again to signal the end of the fight and the Renaitian knights and lords roared with rapture while the Gradian people were surprisingly quiet.

Then the green knight lowered his sword and a bright grin entered his face. Absentmindedly (since most of Vigarde was occupied with dealing with the fact that he was just defeated by a newcomer, who was probably knighted not long ago), he noticed that the knight´s teeth were in a far too good shape for a man without title.

"A grand match!" the lord of Leifhem exclaimed. Vigarde turned his head slowly towards him, still a bit dazzled.

"Indeed." Vigarde lightly shook his head to dispel his stupor. "Indeed, it was," he repeated with his old power back in his voice. He turned to the green knight again, whose squire had just arrived and already took his sword. Vigarde´s own squire had arrived as well and opened the clasp of his helmet. Vigarde shook and wiped his sweaty hair from his eyes, when he finally could see and breathe properly again. "Sir Farian, I congratulate you. You are an exceptional fighter."

Just as Vigarde stepped towards him and raised his hand in a sign of friendship, the green knight spoke for the first time: "I've told you so."

Vigarde froze in the middle of his motion. His eyes widened and his jaw slackened. He- no, _she_ seemed to see it as well and laughed, loudly.

"You cannot..." he mumbled. But the green knight just turned and offered her throat to her squire, who quickly unfastened her helmet and pulled it off. Long, turquoise hair fell onto her shoulder, her bangs sticking to her forehead. Her eyes shone as brightly as her brilliant smile. Vigarde blinked once, twice.

"Princess Fadia." She laughed again.

"Indeed I am. Princess Fadia of Renais. I am pleased to meet you again, Prince Vigarde." She clasped his hand, which had uselessly hovered in mid-air between them, in a tight grip. "I am looking forward to the next six months. My father said I could learn much here."

Vigarde nodded slowly. Her last words hadn't even registered fully. He could only think one thing: _Not again._


	10. Revelations :: MoulderHayden ::

So. The first part of my Moulder-Hayden arc. I kinda like how it turned out :D I'm still a bit insecure about talking about Moulder´s religiousness, because I do have no idea how it feels like. So it's a bit... free form. Otoh, everyone experiences things differently? At least I hope that I do not offend and religious person with my writing of the Latonian (?) faith.

Also, the "prayer" I used in this story is (once again) an In Extremo song, Zauberspruch. Unfortunately I didn't find out when the prayer was written, but the meaning is... fitting. I believe it's written in Estonian. Also, yes, I did change the text a bit; it would be kinda unfitting if they call for Maria instead of Latona... please excuse my taking the liberty to change it. It was necessary.

* * *

It was late in the morning and the chapel was empty. And yet, Moulder entered through the small door at the west end and tiptoed along the wall as if the long marble rows were filled with believers like it had only a few hours ago. He passed the grand and heavy double-door, quickly checked if it was open – it was – and then continued to a little recess hidden behind some drapery in the corner. He grabbed the broom – caught the mop before it crashed on the ground – and began to clean the floor, which had grown quite smooth after all those years of use and could be very slippery when it was not cleaned correctly.

In contrast to the other brothers, Moulder liked cleaning the Royal Chapel. He had only arrived very recently in the Capital and often felt lost in the unfamiliar town and castle, but the church was something he knew, something that didn't change and that always meant home. Moulder had been hesitant at first to come here; he had only been a novice at the cloister in his home town – he hadn't been there for more than about two years – and the offer to come here, the Royal Church, situated inside the Frelian Castle and the seat of the bishop, had been more than surprising (and overwhelming and extremely flattering). It was a mystery to him why the abbot had chosen him; he was nothing special and there had been other very pious novices who would've been an even better choice. And yet, he was the only one who had been chosen; he thanked the Diving every day for this grand gift.

He swept between the marble rows, humming a prayer song to himself.

Moulder had left his family behind and he missed them terribly. But the chance to serve the Divine here, a church Latona herself had visited and blessed, was such an honour that he felt it was an insult to refuse. Thankfully his parents supported his decision to go and promised to write every month; it made his loneliness more tolerable. Besides, after his ten years of service he could go and serve wherever he wanted and could return home then.

The thought of his home lifted his spirits so much that he quietly began to sing a song of prayer, an ode to the Divine and her blessings. With so much motivation, it took him only one song to clean about a third of the rows (the church was so much bigger than the cloister at home; he would've been able to clean the prayer room of the cloister in one song). His next song was prayer for protection, which he sang with his father in mind, who had to fight daily against a sickness that prevented him from working more than one hour straight.

His voice resounded in the church and almost made it louder than he was comfortable with. But he was alone, so he still felt good. The bishop and the brother responsible for the upkeep of the church had complimented Moulder on his voice and encouraged him to become one of the main singers of the choir. Moulder was still a bit shy about using the full range of his voice since he found that his voice was not clean enough yet; it became far too shaky in the higher pitches for his liking. He feared that the Divine might be displeased with his singing so he practised whenever he happened to be alone.

He finished the prayer of protection at about the sixth row. He stopped for a second to decide which song should come next. He let his gaze roam through the church and when it fell on the statues placed around the altar at the head of the church, he felt a jab of homesickness. There was a beautiful statue of a kneeling Latona, her head lowered in reverence of the love of the Everlasting – Moulder´s cloister had a very similar statue.

He cleared his throat and pushed the homesickness back. It made him tear up every time. A bit hesitatingly, he started to chant a children´s prayer that his mother had always sung with him. He mumbled it at first but soon his emotions took charge and he sang louder than he ever dared to. When he finished the song, all the pressure on his chest had left, had clung to his words and now ascended into the sky.

Moulder sighed and closed his eyes, relishing the peacefulness in his heart for a moment. However, the realization that he had stopped sweeping half-way through the song brought him back abruptly. Embarrassed, he hastened to finish the rest of the church.

When he finally reached the first row and made to sweep the little space between the altar and said row, singing quietly to himself again, he let his gaze wander over his already accomplished work to motivate himself; he was quite satisfied with himself. Now was only the first row left, the one reserved for the royal family, which was the only row covered with cushions of blue velvet; Moulder made a mental note to not forget to clean them later as well. When he turned to finish his sweeping, his gaze fell on the right row – he yelped surprised at what he saw.

A man was lying there, flat on his back and his eyes closed. Moulder immediately turned red with embarrassment; not only had he started to clean while someone was here, no, that man had also heard him practising his far from good voice. Then another thought popped into his head; this man was lying, or even sleeping, in the blessed church of Latona! Moulder was not entirely sure if it was already blasphemous, but it was extremely rude, to say the least.

Then the man opened his eyes and sat up. Moulder could barely keep from squeaking in embarrassment; that was not just some man but the Royal Prince of Frelia himself. Moulder had seen Prince Hayden only a few times at readings in the church and now he was here alone with him and would probably have to _talk_ to him. Moulder swallowed hard; he had never spoken with a lord before.

Prince Hayden swung his legs over the edge of the bank, leaning back against the backrest and looked at Moulder, his expression friendly if blank. For some reason that made Moulder even more nervous. "Ah– G- Good day, Your Highness," Moulder stammered and clutched at his broom. Hayden inclined his head lightly.

"Good day, brother," he answered. A tiny smile tugged at his mouth. "I wasn't sleeping." Moulder blinked clueless.

"Oh! Oh, I wasn't– I mean–" He fumbled for words but they seemed to hide from him. His face heated up even more.

"Be at ease, brother." Moulder nodded hastily and tried to comply. "I know that I shouldn't be here at this time of the day." Hayden turned his gaze towards the statue situated directly behind the altar; it was a statue of the founder of Frelia, Hineas the Great with his wife Faye standing beside him. Hineas´s right hand was extended in a sign of welcome, the other held a sword, with its blade turned towards the viewer as a warning. Faye held a shield decorated with several depictions of pegasi and a ship in the middle before her; in her other hand she held up a necklace with the crest of Frelia. "I'll leave if I'm in the way."

"You may enter the church whenever you want, Your Highness."

"Thank you."

Moulder waited for a moment if the prince would say more, but when nothing came, he started to slowly sweep the floor again. He moved a bit away from the prince and continued at the right side of the altar, gingerly working around the delicate statue of Saint Jarisleif, who had ended the Civil War from 567 before it really started. Moulder didn't dare to make any sounds; this whole situation was very strange and he didn't want to attract any attention. Any noise or mistake could disturb the prince and from the day of his arrival Moulder had been taught to never disturb a noble or a member of the royal family. As a brother of the Church of Latona everything he did, he did in the name of the church and he would never want to tarnish her holy name with his stupid mistakes.

When he had finished the right half of the altar space and had scrubbed a stain from the foot of Saint Liam the Sailor with the hem of his robe – Moulder was too shy to walk back to the recess to get a rag – he slowly walked back to the rows of seats. To his dismay, the prince was still sitting there; Hayden had lowered his gaze and stared at the delicate carvings in the white stone of the altar. Moulder swallowed his nervousness and reluctantly moved closer. He had to clean; the bishop would never accept "I was too nervous to come close to the crown prince" as an acceptable excuse for neglecting his duties.

Moulder was almost painfully self-conscious as he slowly entered Hayden´s range of vision. Now the prince could really see him and note every one of his mistakes. Moulder had heard much about the prince´s ability to see and hear everything and to use it to his advantage and only now he started to fear it Insecurely, Moulder looked up at the prince every few seconds to check if he was watched or not. To his great relief he never met the prince´s gaze. Those many moments weren't wasted time, though; Moulder noticed several things he found curious.

He noticed that the prince wore too casual clothes for the church; while it was the newest fashion trend for men to wear loose tunics with long and slightly puffy sleeves and tight trousers – and the prince as a married man wore trousers that reached the middle of his lower legs, in contrast to unmarried men whose trouser bottoms ended at the knee – the style of the clothes was too plain for a day outfit. Clothes like that one only wore when one didn't leave the house or on the training fields. Moulder found that strange since he had heard that the prince was very proper and always appropriately dressed. And judging from the few times Moulder had seen him in church, he could only confirm this.

He noticed that Hayden´s right foot was tapping slightly. It was not a grand motion, but it stuck out oddly to Moulder. Just as the fact that Hayden repeatedly flexed his fingers. He could barely keep his hands still.

And finally, Moulder noticed the slowly deepening lines of worry on his brows. The longer the prince stared into nothingness, the deeper his frown grew. Moulder was slightly taken aback by this because he had never seen the prince – or anyone for that matter – that dark and gloomy. The thought that something bad had happened stressed Moulder out more than he thought it would. But the whirl of fear, doubt and pain in the prince´s grey eyes touched something deep in him and he wanted to help. Moulder wanted to ease the prince´s burden. He was a servant of the Divine; it was his duty to listen to her followers and help them. But it wouldn't be right to just go up to Prince Hayden and ask him to share his problems. Moulder was a nobody and far too young to give advise; how could a fourteen year old help a grown adult with problems so big? How ridiculous he would look like!

Suddenly the prince looked up and their gazes met. Moulder immediately turned red. Not only had the prince noticed that he was staring at him, no, Moulder just noticed that he had stopped sweeping some time during his thinking and was now standing in front of the altar with a broom in hand and looking like an idiot! Prince Hayden said nothing; he only looked slightly confused at Moulder´s blatant impoliteness.

"You can tell me your worries," Moulder blurted out before he could collect himself. As soon as he understood what he had just said, he blushed darker. The prince only looked taken aback. "I- I mean. I am a brother and- and I am here to hear the sorrows of Latona´s followers and, uhm, help them." His voice trailed off towards the end. He felt incredibly silly and stupid. The prince had no reason to trust him; he would probably yell at him and leave. Moulder only hoped that nobody would ever hear about this meeting.

To his big surprise and confusion, the prince started to laugh. It was a quiet, slightly tired laugh. Moulder dropped his gaze to his feet. "Thank you." Moulder involuntarily startled. "But I don't believe that you or anybody can help me." Hayden sighed lowly. "I was only seeking a moment of silence. The castle is too much in an uproar at the moment." Moulder wondered what kind of uproar that was since none of the brothers had heard of it – and they knew all the gossip as early as the pages and servants living in the castle. That could only mean that the royal family actively prevented the news from leaving the castle. Then it would be impossible for the prince to talk about it, Moulder concluded. But the thought of the prince suffering under this uproar made Moulder uncomfortable; if he had someone to talk with, then he wouldn't have come here.

Moulder licked his lips nervously. He couldn't let the prince leave like this, could he? What would his abbot back at home think of him if he let a desperate man leave the church without having at least tried to aid him?

"Sir..." Hayden looked at him again, this time with a blank face. Moulder clutched at his broom as if it were his courage and he had to keep it from running away. If he wanted to become as kind and caring and good a priest as his abbot, he had to be persistent now. "One of Latona´s first teachings is to care about your neighbour as much as about yourself. To treat your neighbour as you treat your family." Moulder took a calming breath. "As a man of the church it is my duty to take care of everyone entering my church. I- I know I am far too young to give you any adequate advise, Your Highness. But sometimes it is already enough if we can share our worries and sometimes the solution to our problems becomes more clearly when we voice them. And if you don't want to talk to me, then let me fetch the bishop. He will surely be willing to ease your burden."

Hayden looked him in the eye and for about a minute nobody said anything. Moulder grew alarmingly nervous again and his neck tingled and tickled with heat. He wanted to move and get rid of the warmth which arose beneath his robes, but he didn't dare to show any of his anxiety. At long last Hayden cast his eyes to the ground and nodded.

"You are right, brother. Maybe a confession will calm my mind." Before Moulder knew what happened, a relieved smile appeared on his face. Hayden raised his eyebrows and smiled himself. Moulder quickly lowered his head; he managed to embarrass himself today with every little action! Hayden inclined his head to his left side and pointedly looked at Moulder. The boy didn't understand at first; when the penny dropped, he startled violently. He hastened to the bank and sat down, gingerly placing the broom next to himself. He felt a little bit uncomfortable, because normally he was not allowed to sit here. But since he had the permission of the prince, nobody could admonish him, couldn't they?

"Very well," Hayden said with a sigh and rubbed his chin. Moulder sat straight and focussed fully on the prince. "You might have heard that the Thegan Fever has broken out in the south again." Moulder sucked in a breath of surprise and shock. He hadn't known that, but he knew the Thegan Fever. About a year ago a traveller had taken shelter in Moulder´s cloister at home. The man had suffered from a fever and the abbot had immediately given him a room where they could nurse him. Moulder assisted him then and saw the steady decline; at first the man had only the symptoms of a common cold and the abbot was confident that they could heal him. But when the man vomited blood after a few days, his skin turned slightly bluish and the chills came in strong and painful waves, they knew they couldn't save him. As soon as the patient´s skin turned bluish, he had no more than a few days until the fever killed them. When the Thegan Fever was discovered early, in the first phase, the patient could be saved. If not, one could only pray for a quick and relatively painless death.

"No, sir," Moulder said, dreading what would come. Hayden nodded slowly and his face darkened.

"It has reached the castle." Moulder bit his lip. That's why the castle doors had been closed and there were fewer visitors than normal. He had already wondered what the reason for that was. "And my wife..." Hayden trailed off, lifting a hand to hide his mouth behind. "She has fallen ill. Nine days ago." The prince squeezed his eyes shut.

Moulder swallowed hard. The princess had at least entered the second phase, maybe even the third. The chances of a recovery were infinitesimal. Moulder lowered his head. Hayden rubbed his hands together and then rested his chin on them.

"I fear that... she is lost." Moulder noticed that Hayden´s voice grew heavy. He avoided to look at the prince. "And I..." Hayden took a shaky breath. "I cannot deal with it. I don't want to lose her. I don't want my son to lose his mother before he is able to get to know her. In the castle I... am confronted with her sickness and the prospect that she'll die in a few days every waking minute and I couldn't stand it anymore. I needed a place where I could find peace for a moment. Where I could gather my thoughts and decide on how..." His hand slid upwards and covered his eyes. "how to deal with everything." The prince´s voice was shaking and Moulder thought he had heard tears as well. "But even here I couldn't find a way. I just... feel so..." Hayden shook his head and fell silent. He buried his head in his hands and obviously suppressed sobs.

Moulder shifted slightly, a bit unsure about what was the right thing to say. After a moment he raised his hand insecurely and put it on Hayden´s shoulder. To his great surprise (and shock), Hayden broke down and sobbed loudly. Moulder felt incredibly helpless and could only squeeze the prince´s shoulder. His own heart throbbed with pain at seeing the prince so desperate. Moulder hadn't yet lost someone close to him or was close to losing someone so he could only imagine how the prince must feel like. The sole vision of losing his mother or father to such a painful illness made his throat tighten and a disgusting feeling grew in his chest and stomach.

Hayden´s sobs slowly subsided until they were mere gasps for air.

"Sir, let us pray." Hayden grew silent and peeked over his hands. He looked confused. Moulder swallowed the lump in his throat. "Fate has decided to take Princess Aileen´s life out of our reach. Only the Divine can help her now. Let us pray to Latona and to the Divine. Let us ask them to spare her and heal her." Quite confident now, Moulder clutched the prince´s shoulder tighter. "Place your trust and hope in the Divine. Let us pray together so that the Goddess can't overhear us." Moulder smiled confidently. Hayden blinked slowly and lowered his hands. There were streaks of tears on his pale cheeks and Moulder resisted the urge to offer the prince his (very plain and ugly) handkerchief.

Then the prince finally nodded. "Very well." Moulder immediately slid down from the bank and knelt. He bowed his hand and folded his hands in front of him. He was just closing his eyes for the prayer when he noticed a movement beside him. To his great surprise the prince knelt beside him, in a position of utter submission. Moulder was startled because the bishop had told him on his very first day that the royalty had different rules than the common people. And yet Prince Hayden took the position of a common man, a weak man, of an utterly helpless man. Moulder´s heart surged with something, maybe pride or admiration or respect. Hayden raised his hands, clasping them in front of him, resting his lips on them.

Moulder started with the greeting prayer in Old Frelian; the foreign and yet familiar sounds fell from his lips effortlessly. He had spoken (or sung) those words so often in his life that they were imprinted in his mind. He heard Hayden mumbling them with him; the prince had a slight accent (he pronounced the "íen" and "wèn" strangely). After the call for the goddess and the obeisance, Moulder hesitated. Phrases and ideas and question about how to articulate the request bolted through his head. He didn't want to accidentally insult the Prince or the Princess; his knowledge of the court rules was embarrassingly sketchy.

"Dearest Divine, protector and giver of life, mistress of light," Hayden started. Moulder threw a quick glance over at him; the prince´s eyes were closed and his forehead creased. He thankfully remained silent. "I call for you and beg for your mercy on behalf of my wife. Lady Beladore, Mistress of Fate, has decided to test her and me by subjecting her to a painful and deadly illness. I fear that my beloved wife may not be able to pass this ordeal on her own. I beg you to assist her. Please spare her and guide her back. My son needs her." Hayden´s voice faltered and a half-sob managed to slip past his lips. "I need her. Please give her strength." He abruptly fell silent for about a minute; his hands were clenched tightly and he obviously pressed back new tears. As soon as he had composed himself, he repeated the last sentence over and over in a barely audible whisper. Moulder waited patiently, his eyes half-closed and lulled into a state of trance. The prince´s voice resounded in his head, floated around and the sound of it grew more pleasant by every passing second.

While in that trance and while Hayden was still whispering, Moulder called for the Saint Latona; "Dear Lady Latona, hear my call. This poor man requires your assistance. Hear his cry and lend him your word. Speak for him and do not leave him alone. I, your faithfully pupil, beg this of you." Moulder woke from his trance then and noticed that Hayden had fallen silent. Were they in any other situation Moulder would've turned beet-red for calling the crown prince a poor man he had to speak for, but right now it felt right. And in a moment of vain, Moulder felt proud of how he delivered those lines, for which he would later chide himself.

They repeated the greeting prayer together, in almost perfect unison. After that a new silence filled the church. They remained sitting, bowed, and probably lost in thought. After maybe ten minutes Moulder straightened. The prince remained in his position. It took him another, rather long while to sit up.

"Thank you, brother," Hayden then said lowly. His gaze was turned downwards.

"I will talk to the bishop later," Moulder answered. He was upright, his head held high with pride and confidence. "I will ask him to hold a mass for the princess. And I will ask the other brothers to pray for her as well." Moulder turned to the prince then with a smile. Shock ran through his veins (and his cheeks coloured again) at seeing the expression on the prince´s face. Such open gratitude and emotions were not only a rare sight on the prince, but also because Moulder didn't feel that he deserved _that_ much thankfulness. His heart sped up and he dropped his gaze.

"I thank you for your compassion," he said and clasped his shoulder. "It must've been the Divine´s will that we met today." Moulder mumbled something unintelligible in return. Hayden laughed slightly and the sound cheered Moulder a bit up. Hayden pushed himself up. Moulder quickly followed suit.

Hayden tugged at his clothes, smoothing all the creases, and then sighed relieved. "I believe it is time to return to the side of my wife." He threw a glance at Moulder, smiling. "I feel strong enough to stay with her now." Embarrassed and proud, Moulder again dropped his gaze and bowed. "Good day, brother ...?"

"Moulder, sir."

"Good day, brother Moulder." Hayden bowed in return, which startled and confused Moulder, and left through the grand double door.

Moulder stared after him and then at the door for a while. His heart was still beating quickly and his skin hot. The last hour (or was it more?) felt unreal and bizarre; he had not only met and talked with the crown prince of Frelia, no, he had even prayed with him and was his confidant now. That thought brought a broad, face-splitting grin to his face; he really did help someone! The abbot at home would be so proud of him. Almost giddy, he quickly finished cleaning the church and then immediately sped to talk to the bishop and the other brothers.

###

The bishop was surprised at Moulder´s sudden request but immediately agreed as soon as he it was confirmed by the king. The mass was held the next day and Moulder was placed in the choir again; this time he was confident and waited impatiently for it to begin. He was determined to give his best.

The choir boys were placed in a half circle around the altar at the feet of the statues, in the back of the bishop, who stood in front of the altar. Moulder was standing before the statue of Saint Helenora of the Island Ilceli, who had protected the Island from invading pirates in the year 376. She was renowned for being an excellent singer and Moulder hoped she would watch over him today. Excited, he watched the inhabitants of the castle pouring into the church.

The servants and a few selected knights came first and stood along the wall behind the rows; their mostly dark and brown clothes seemed to merge with the grey of the stone walls – they became an indistinguishable mass. Then the higher knights – captains, lieutenants and archknights – entered and filled the rows near the entrance; they wore decorated armour (only breast plates and vambraces, as far as Moulder could tell) and fine clothes and cloaks in dark, rich colours. The various nobles – high and low – filled most of the remaining space; their clothes were as colourful and varying as their rank and at every mass Moulder discovered a colour or hue he had never seen before.

There was a pause between the entrance of the nobles and the entrance of the royal family. It always took a while until everyone was seated, had exchanged greetings with their neighbours and swapped a bit of gossip. They were silenced by one lone call of a hunting horn. Everyone turned towards the grand door to receive the royal family with a bowed head.

Moulder, though he feared that someone might see him and think ill of him, didn't bow his head as deep as he should but rather peeked through his bangs and watched the royal entrance.

The first couple was a cousin of the prince – a young lady with rich green hair, freckles and a pointy nose – and her father. Her father, the king´s brother and lord of the Island Ilceli, guided her towards the left royal row. Her two children trailed behind them. Two other family members, who Moulder didn't recognize – for which he felt great shame –, joined them.

The next person entering the church made Moulder´s heart skip. The prince, clad in a green and golden decorated garb and an cloak in royal dark blue, looked as regal and impressive as Moulder remembered him from their first (if one-sided at that time) meeting during Moulder´s first attendance at a mass. His heart thumped loudly against his eardrums and even though his hands grew slick with nervousness, Moulder felt giddy. In a few minutes he would sing for him to the Divine; never had been placed so much trust in him.

When Moulder took a second glance at the prince, he suddenly noticed that the prince was not alone. Young Lord Innes, still almost a toddler, clutched at the prince´s hand, looking around curiously but not intimidated. He was clad in similar colours as his father, which made him almost look like a miniature version of the prince (the similarity between not only their hair colour but also their serious and thoughtful expression was amazing). Moulder swallowed; he had never seen the young lord. But why the boy made him feel so weird and managed to dispel his giddiness he didn't know.

The prince and his son took a seat on the right royal row; Prince Hayden picked Lord Innes up and placed him close next to him. The boy looked up at him, frowning very seriously, and asked his father something. Moulder watched how the prince´s mouth curled up into a gentle smile and he whispered something to Lord Innes, who then turned to the bishop and the choir. Moulder´s gaze strayed away; he didn't want to look at the young lord. But he couldn't keep from glancing at the prince for long. Just when he looked again, the prince raised his eyes and noticed him. Moulder blushed when a tiny, subtle knowing smile flashed over the prince´s face. He hoped that nobody would noticed the redness on his face, especially the prince (who was hopefully sitting too far away from him to discern it).

Moulder had completely missed the entrance of the king and only noticed that he had arrived when his gaze once again flickered back to the prince and he found that a man with pure white hair, clad in royal sky blue robes, was sitting down next to Prince Hayden. Lord Innes leaned over his father´s legs and whispered something to his grandfather. Prince Hayden hushed him and sat him back. Lord Innes pouted lightly and slumped.

As soon as the king was settled, the bishop cleared his throat and all attention turned to him. Except Moulder´s, who really tried to listen, but his nervousness commanded him to go through the song texts again even though he knew them by heart. But today nothing should go wrong so he had no choice. He couldn't embarrass himself when so much was at stake. Even though his attention lay elsewhere, he found the little bit he did hear very sympathetic and moving.

When the bishop started to talk about the qualities of the princess and why she deserved to be saved, Moulder´s gaze flickered back to the prince. Hayden was seemingly listening calmly and if Moulder hadn't heard his confession, he might have believed that he was impassive. But he knew and so he paid proper attention and saw the prince´s mouth twitch a few times. He had put his arm around Innes, who was picking and playing with the hem of his tunic, and held him close. Moulder´s chest clenched with sympathy and he quickly dropped his gaze, lest the prince felt like Moulder was invading his privacy.

"Let us pray now," the bishop said loudly, outstretching his arms, and startled Moulder. Now he almost missed it! "Let us pray for Princess Aileen and for the many other victims of the Thegan fever. Let us call the Divine and Latona for assistance."

When the music arose, Moulder took a deep breath, straightened and closed his eyes. It took two lines until the violins and harps joined the flutes, then another two lines until the choir had to join. Moulder´s heart sped up with every passing second and with every jump the flutes made. His hands actually started to shake when only a few chords were left. He counted down the seconds. 3, 2, 1...

"_Koit Kerkib, Päaw Peaseb, _

_Tagane Waenlane. Sigenego Terwis, _

_Sest Jumal Kuuleb._" The Old Northern Dialect fell easily from Moulder´s tongue; his voice was strong and did not shake like the rest of him. He had been too loud during the first few notes and he hoped that he didn't stand out too negatively. His gaze flew to the prince, but he seemed unfazed and just listened.

His attention immediately returned when the intermission of the flutes came to an end and it was time for his solo part (well, his and of two other boys, but he felt oddly alone). His heart drummed against his eardrums so loudly he could barely hear the music anymore.

"_Latonja Latonja markeb, Taganego Wastased_

_Latonja Latonja markeb, Wajogo Waenslased._" Their three voices were in complete harmony and together their sound seemed magical; it was strong and soft and pleasing to the ears. Moulder was almost frightened by it; for once he dared to sing as loud as them and for the first time nothing sounded off. His mouth twitched upwards; the Divine and Latona would surely be pleased by this performance. His gaze flew over to the prince again. His smile faltered when he saw his stony expression. Hayden stared ahead, over Moulder´s head, and mumbled the prayer with them. Innes had slumped against him and played with his father´s tunic; he seemed bored. Moulder quickly turned away.

The instruments took over again and Moulder half-closed his eyes at the soft and yearning sound. Together the harps and violins were so pleading and almost crying, he couldn't help but be affected. He repeated his prayer from yesterday in his head, calling out for Latona and the Divine. He was sure that everybody present did the same and the sole thought gave him confidence; his voice and conviction was never stronger when the music died away and their voices arose to finish the prayer a cappella.

"_Siis ma sortsin so sooned, Siis ma waalin so woolmed_

_Sigenego Terwis, Latonja Latonja Tagane_

_Latonjy waenlane._"

The last note vibrated through the church, soaked into every nook and cranny and filled the hearts of all people present. Moulder felt high, his head was light. He seemed to float. He couldn't describe what this experience meant to him – he couldn't fully understand it himself. He just _knew_ that this was right, that this was what he wanted, what he was supposed to do. To serve and to advise, to help and speak for others; this was his destiny.

Still on his high, he missed the closing words of the bishop. He rather bathed in this incredibly satisfying feeling. That he could create such a feeling (and such a beautiful sound) with his voice alone... he wanted to do it again. He wanted to repeat this experience and let other people participate in it. Right on cue Moulder glanced at the prince, who had dropped his gaze and seemed to struggle. He wasn't sure if the king just didn't notice or ignored it since he (to Moulder at least) obviously avoided to look at his son. Innes had curiously tilted back his head and pointed upwards at his father, his mouth moving. Hayden answered and raked his hand through Innes´ hair. The boy frowned and dropped his arm.

Moulder was surprised by the first words of the closing prayer and jolted inwardly. Now he just learnt what he wanted to do for the rest of his life and made a resolve and the first thing he did afterwards was stumbling over his overconfidence! Humbled, Moulder lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut, and joined the collective chant.

When he opened his eyes again, the bishop had bowed to Latona´s statue and made to leave through the grand door. The king raised to his feet, stood in front of Latona and bowed as well. Moulder swallowed hard, when the prince stood to do the ritual. Lord Innes was a bit unwilling and clutched his father, tugging at him. Hayden ignored his whining until after his bow. Then he picked Innes up – which made the boy happy again – and left. A wave of sadness washed over Moulder; he hadn't had the chance to catch a last view of Prince Hayden´s expression. He had hoped to see any sign of relief or at least some sort of confidence, but he had only caused him pain. Moulder tried to console himself with the thought that Prince Hayden kept his feelings locked up and he wouldn't have seen anything anyway.

It took quite a while until the last believer had done the ritual and left the church. Moulder had kept his head low all the time, fighting with himself, because he _shouldn't_ feel disappointed. There was no reason to; he did what he said he'd do – ask the bishop for a mass and pray for the princess – and he even had an epiphany! He should feel great, walk on clouds, anything other than be disappointed. But the sadness and blankness and stoniness of Prince Hayden´s face appeared again and again in his mind and drove away all his happiness.

Sad and a bit confused, he left with the other brothers through the side entrance and decided to spend the rest of the day with contemplating and examining his feelings.

###

Two days later he still hadn't come to any conclusion. He had kept to himself these last days – the other brothers had wondered and asked if something was wrong with him, but he couldn't answer – and tried to understand what was happening to him, but everything felt so unfamiliar that he was clueless. A few times he wanted to ask someone else to help him, maybe make a confession, but he always dismissed the thought because this didn't feel like something he could share. As if it were precious.

Now he was in the church again, sweeping the floor in total silence. He didn't have the concentration to sing. His heart and head were too occupied with earthly things.

He had asked the other brothers to continue their prayers for the prince and the princess and he was pretty sure that they did. He at least certainly included them in every prayer. Despite the strange feelings that said prayer elicited in him, which caused him to examine himself (fruitlessly) again.

It was a test, Moulder concluded, a test of his belief and strength. Something was trying to focus his mind on earthly matters instead of holy.

So deep in thought, he cleaned the church without noticing much – neither the bird flying against the high window over the altar, nor the two young brothers who fled again as soon as they saw Moulder (they probably tried to hide from their kitchen duty). He just went through the motions like a machine. He was only startled out of his brooding when his gaze fell on Prince Hayden´s seat. He stopped abruptly and stared at it. For a worryingly long while. Everything ran through his head again – his shock at seeing the prince lying there, the sound of his laugh, his tears and sobs, his inscrutable expression during the mass, his knowing smile...

It made his heart spin.

The last thing he could remember was the stoniness. The emptiness of his grey eyes, which had hurt him. He didn't know it was hurt back then, because it had felt different than all the other times he had been hurt by someone, but now he knew. Moulder frowned. That was certainly not what he was supposed to feel. Compassion, sadness or sympathy were appropriate feelings. The prince was going through a very hard time. Now was not the moment for Moulder to harbour such selfish feelings.

He should apologize. To the prince and to Latona and the Divine. Moulder nodded to himself grimly and continued sweeping. He would rectify everything.

The broom slowly came to a stop again. He didn't know how to contact the prince, though. He couldn't just appear in the castle and ask for a private audience with him. Only the bishop could do that. Moulder half wished that the prince might appear in the church again, but that wasn't too probable. He had asked a few servants how the prince was faring during the last two days (a few times, actually), but no one knew anything. Even the brothers and servants with the biggest interest in gossip knew nothing. It was like the prince had completely disappeared for the last two days.

The grand double-door opened with a loud scraping on the floor – Moulder, who had aimlessly stared ahead, flinched and turned, fully expecting an angry brother who had noticed his slacking. His jaw almost fell open when he saw who entered.

With the sun in his back lighting up his grey hair, an uncharacteristic grin on his face and joy in his eyes, the prince stepped into the church. He slapped the air out of Moulder´s lungs. The boy could barely believe it and didn't dare to blink lest the prince disappeared again.

"Brother Moulder."

Moulder swallowed hard; the prince said his name with such warmth and thankfulness that it embarrassed and yet still filled him with such pride and confidence that he felt he might burst at the contrariness. The prince crossed the distance between them too quickly for Moulder to gain control over himself again. The grin had morphed into a small, yet glowing smile on the way and despite it growing smaller, it made everything worse for Moulder.

Hayden clasped Moulder´s shoulders and squeezed them. "She is getting better." Moulder blinked cluelessly for a second, needing some time to gather his wits. Then his mouth fell open and his eyes widened with incredulity.

"What?" he breathed.

"Yes, she is," Hayden repeated with a nod and the grin returned. "The healers had already given up hope and she as well. But yesterday her fever suddenly sank and the blue left her skin. We already thought that that was a sign of her end, but she said that the pain left. That she felt better." Hayden bit his lip, probably to keep himself from grinning even broader. Moulder didn't know why; he had an incredible desire to see it. "Do you understand what this means? She's getting well. She's no longer dying." Hayden squeezed his shoulders harder. Moulder tried to look away, to stop gazing in his shining grey eyes, but he couldn't. And he truly didn't want to.

"It is incredible, my lord." was the only thing Moulder could think of.

Hayden seemed to fight with himself – mostly with his grin since it seemed he wanted to say more but his grin made it impossible – and Moulder just spent the time looking at him and feeling another epiphany nearing.

"Moulder, I have to thank you," Hayden ultimately said. "Your assurance and support gave me enough strength to help my wife. It is thanks to you that my wife found strength in my belief in her and managed to conquer her illness. With the blessing of the Divine and Latona she lives. I owe you everything." Moulder dropped his gaze, his face probably as red as an Renaitian apple.

"M-my lord, you praise me too much."

"I do not." He accentuated it with a squeeze.

"Every brother would have done the same thing." His voice dropped towards the end.

"But Latona sent you, not someone else," Hayden argued gently. "And I will be forever thankful." When Moulder looked up and their gazes met, the epiphany came. Moulder should've known it; he had heard about these feelings from his peers. He just had never thought he would ever have them as well.

"If Your Highness is happy, I am as well. I serve because I want to make people happy."

"You have served me very well. You can be proud of yourself." Moulder was and lowered his head.

Hayden´s hands stayed for a few seconds on his shoulders and he felt sad when they left. "My wife waits for me. I've promised her to have lunch with her." Hayden´s voice was so beautifully soft – Moulder kept his gaze lowered; the look on his face was not for him. "Moulder... thank you."

Moulder only bowed. He heard him leaving, his footsteps growing quieter and quieter. Only after the door had fallen close, Moulder looked up again.

He sighed. And with the sigh, he finally accepted his epiphany.

He was in love.


	11. Sound :: FadiaEira ::

FemFado/FemHayden, because I haven't written femslash of them yet. Which is not a desirable state 8D So here have a short drabble. Eira is my name for FemHayden.

Sexual theme.

* * *

"I hear your heart beating."

"What?"

Fadia giggled lowly, pressed a gentle kiss against Eira´s bare chest, just over her heart, and then laid down her head again. "It's racing and racing." Eira snorted, probably amused, and Fadia´s head bounced up. Fadia laughed and clutched Eira tighter. "I like making your heart race."

"With a tongue like yours, it's no great feat." Fadia laughed loudly at that, peeking upwards – she enjoyed seeing the hint of red on Eira´s cheeks. "Next time..."

"Hm?" Fadia pulled herself up, closer to Eira, and snuggled against her again. Her hand sneaked under the blanket, over Eira´s stomach to rest on her side.

Eira leaned over to whisper in her ear: "Next time I'll make your heart race."


	12. Lost Chance :: FadiaVigarde ::

In the beginning the "leading-in" to this scene was longer, but I didn't want to write it since I'm pretty sure it would've been horrible. And I still like it how it is now. This scene is the most important thing; the "introduction" would just be an addition.

* * *

"You have been so absentminded those last days."

Vigarde blinks confused, ripping his gaze away from the low windows, and looks at the frowning Fadia next to him. "Pardon me?"

"You've always been silent but not like this." She shakes her head and pushes her loose, long hair back over her shoulder. Her once brilliant turquoise hair has dulled a bit and grey strands are wove into it like the golden threat in her sleeves. "What is bothering you?"

Vigarde suppresses a sigh, shaking his head, and leans forward to pick up his cup of tea. "It is nothing, Fadia. I feel fine." She doesn't argue and that seems suspicious to Vigarde. But he doesn't turn and rather concentrates on his tea and its sweet aroma.

When she still keeps silent after two minutes, a shudder runs through his veins. Of course his uneasiness is obvious. He was never good at hiding his feelings from her. Or maybe she is just too good at reading people. His gaze flickers over to her. Fadia is just sitting there, looking at him with concern written all over her face.

He drops his gaze, opening his mouth to explain everything to her. But he hesitates. He doesn't know how to put his thoughts, his troubles and doubts into words. The silence presses heavily against his ears. Vigarde stares at his cup of tea, the dark liquid reflecting the dull sunlight from the glass doors leading to the gardens. He hears Fadia moving – she leans forward, picks up her cup and takes a little sip.

"I feel lonely." He says it so lowly he barely hears it himself. But she stops and it takes a while until she places her cup on the table again.

"Why?" He knows that she is looking at him again, probably even more worried. With her brows furrowed and wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. He contemplates if he should turn to look at her, but then he would surely spill all of his feelings at once.

"For... for years now I could... never talk about my problems." Vigarde sighs deeply and pulls up his shoulders, tensing. "I am... always alone with them and have to deal with them on my own. And it... is so tiring." He shuts his eyes; just thinking about it makes his temples throb with pain. "And yet... I cannot sleep. I often just lie in my bed and cannot fall asleep even though I'm tired."

"Can you not talk to one of your generals? Didn't you tell me you're close to Duessel? Or maybe even Lyon? He is your son. He would surely understand..."

Vigarde shakes his head. "No, I... I can't. They... there is too much I would have explain to them. And Lyon... no, not Lyon. I can't... I cannot speak with him about everyday matters. How could I talk with him about..." He almost throws his cup on the table in frustration, flinching at the loud sound it makes. He shakes his head again and rakes his hands through his hair, almost knocking his circlet from his forehead.

Suddenly he feels her hand at his neck, stroking him, caressing his skin and running her fingers through his hair. He exhales deeply, a good portion of his baggage slipping from his shoulders, and slumps. Vigarde squeezes his eyes shut, and lets his head fall forward and his hands down into his lap, exposing more of his neck to her experienced fingers.

"Vigarde..."

"I need a partner," he whispers. "Not just a friend or a son. I need... I need someone like Minna. Someone like... you." Her fingers hesitate for only a second, but they did and Vigarde´s throat tightens. "I could share everything with her. And she understood me and supported me when I needed her. Even when I didn't need it." His tired laugh sounds like a bark; somehow a choked sob manages to sneak in. "I... didn't need to explain myself to her."

Fadia´s fingers curled around his nape, fingernails so gently scraping over his skin that the hair on his arms stands up. His sigh of pleasure is shaky and sounds like a moan of pain.

"But she is gone. Forever. She cannot come and rescue me." He raises one hand and tiredly rests his head on it. A wave of loneliness rears up and presses against his eyes and temples and air pipe.

Fadia lowers her hand and rubs his shoulder in little circles. He groans lowly when the heel of her hand presses against a stiff muscle. She stops then and resumes gently scraping her fingernails over his back; he sighs involuntarily at that.

"Then I remembered you..." Her fingers halt again for a second; they are gentler when they return and barely ghost over his skin. "And what we had. Before I destroyed everything." He hears her shift. "I often find myself wondering... what would be if everything had turned out differently. If you had become my wife. How mine– our life would've looked like. If I would've been happier. If you had... died giving birth." She interrupts him with a short laugh.

"I've survived twins, Vigarde. Nothing can kill me easily." His lips twitch upwards.

"That's true." He sobers quickly. "If I... felt lighter if you were with me. That you... would just... cheer me up–" His voice breaks and he hides his mouth behind his hand, squeezing shut his eyes until it hurts. Suddenly he feels her other hand gliding over his chest; she pulls him up and close until his forehead rests on her shoulder. Fadia leans her head against his and massages his neck and shoulders.

"I understand you," she whispers in his ear and a shuddering sigh escapes his lips. "Very well." He carefully, hesitantly raises his hand to place it on her side; he wants to pull her closer, return her hug, but something makes him stop and his hand falls to his side before he can even touch her. "I miss my husband as well. I miss talking with him. And laughing with him."

She shifts, leaning against the backrest, and he is pulled with her; their knees are touching. Vigarde´s heart speeds up and even though it is just her knee, it feels incredibly intimate and he yearns to slide closer. "I can talk with Eirika and my friends about many things, but some..." She sighs lightly and her breath tickles his ear; he shudders. "Some things I just can't tell them. I don't know why. Having a partner is just... different."

"Yes," he breathes against her shoulder and notices that the scent of the tea clings to her dress. He presses his nose into the cloth and smells _her_ – his insides clench with yearning.

"Sometimes you can't help feeling lonely..."

His fingers claw into the rough material of the couch – her grip on him tightens, maybe she has noticed. Vigarde swallows hard. This is was he had wished for; understanding. He hoped that that would help him, set him straight so that he could continue normally after that. That he would return refreshed to Grado.

But now his whole body is aching for more; more caresses, more touching, more closeness.

"I missed you," slips past his lips before he can stop it. It says too much. Fadia hugs him closer in return. He wishes – he waits – for an answer but nothing comes. Insecurity and fear tears at his heart; he has said too much. Her fingers are still stroking his neck, drawing little circles on his skin, and the pleasure pains him. "I miss you," he repeats. She nuzzles him closer, pressing her cheek against his temple. Her skin is so wonderfully warm and soft.

"I miss you too." Vigarde almost breaks down. The hand that searched for her earlier raises again and this time he touches her. Grasps her dress and keeps her close. He can't hug her, but he can keep her from going away. He wants her to stay with him forever. Relief and pain press against his throat and he buries his face in her shoulder so the tears cannot escape.

Fadia just holds him.

Vigarde tries to calm down, tries to deny the desire to pull her so close that their bodies touch everywhere they can. He needs to deny himself the closeness because he knows he will lose it again. And yet, her smell, the warmth, her fingers gliding over his neck make his head and heart light. He gets lost in her.

He doesn't know how long they stay like this. It feels like hours have passed when he finally raises his head. Slowly, as if he has woken from a deep slumber. He stays close so that his cheek glides over hers, his beard stroking her lightly. She doesn't let him stray anyway. He stops when they are on eye-level; he feels her breath on his cheek. Her fingers still haven't left his nape even though they're still now.

He hesitates and wonders if he should risk it. He is so close, it would not be more than a tilt of his head. And he remembers her kisses; he remembers how they made him curl his toes in bliss.

He turns his head ever so slightly, his nose gliding over her cheekbone. Her body seems to stiffen. Vigarde freezes; is he unwelcome? Has he read the sign incorrectly? Has she even sent signals or is he so caught up in his pain that he imagined things? He is scared but he has to make sure.

He nudges her gently with his nose. He can't remember any other time his heart has beaten this hard. This might destroy his last deep friendship. Vigarde closes his eyes and awaits her decision.

It takes unbelievably long seconds until Fadia moves. The air suddenly disappears from his lungs when he feels her soft lips on his. He barely notices how one of her hands slips up to his face and caresses his cheek and beard. He barely notices that she scoots closer to him. He can only feel the warmth running through him and filling his veins and head and heart.

Suddenly his restraint breaks; he slings his arms around her waist and clings to her. He knows that he betrays his desperation, but he doesn't care. For the first time in years he feels he is allowed to show it.

Things process quickly and soon they lie pressed against each other in bed, never letting any space come between them. They never break their kiss and swallow each others moans and gasps. Vigarde could not stand losing this connection, even though it is not their only one anymore.

After a last long, throaty moan, they come to a stop and only now Vigarde can bear to release Fadia´s lips. Gasping, chest heaving, he looks down at her; she is smiling, her hands still tangled in his hair, and only now Vigarde truly notices the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth and he loves them. He still loves her eyes and their spark, and how her hair looks when it is sweaty and in a mess, with or without the grey streaks.

Her fingers clench around his hair once more before she lowers them, letting them glide over his shoulders and arms. Her legs, which she had clasped around his hips, fall as well. Unwilling, Vigarde pushes himself up and rolls on his side. He feels cold for a moment – the heat of her body has warmed him more than he thought. Maybe she noticed it or she just feels the same, but Fadia almost immediately scoots over, lays one arm over his chest and rests her head on his shoulder.

He feels so happy he could laugh. He snuggles up to her and sighs, feeling sleep tug at his eyelids. "Fadia–"

"Shh." He feels her mouth curling upwards on his chest and so he complies and falls asleep.

When he awakes later, the giddiness has washed away and his grasp of reality is back. Fadia is still sleeping in his arms, her chest pressing against his with every breath she draws. Vigarde´s eyes flicker to the windows; the sun has barely moved as far as he can see from his position. He settles back relieved and turns to Fadia.

He watches her; watches how her hair slowly slides over her shoulder to rest on her breast. Watches how her breath moves his chest hair. Watches how her hand on his stomach twitches every now and then. When he is finally tired of doing that, he sighs lowly, raises his free hand and pushes her turquoise hair over her shoulder. He likes the feel of it on his skin so he reaches up and rakes his fingers through it. It is tangled and unruly. But he loves it – he shouldn't, but he does.

"I wish I could take you with me," he whispers.

"We both have our duties," she answers. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards; of course she is awake.

"I know." Fadia sighs, hums contented, hugs Vigarde tight for one last time and sits up. Vigarde stays for a second, his gaze tracing her form – her straight back, the curve of her breast and her belly – before he sits up as well. They dress in a comfortable silence and when they leave the room it is as if nothing happened apart from a cheering conversation.

A few days later the delegation of Grado is leaving. After making sure that everything is ready, Vigarde joins Fadia and her twins under the archway of the entrance of the castle.

"Queen Fadia." He extends his hand.

"Emperor Vigarde." She takes it and they shake hands, leaning forward to press a light kiss on each other´s right cheeks. Vigarde turns to the twins then and says goodbye to them as well. "It was an honour to receive you and I hope you will come back in the future." He looks at her hesitatingly; she is smiling. A warm smile that makes his heart clench again.

He chuckles inwardly; he has got more than he deserves. It is good as it is. "I will." And he sweeps up her hand, presses a kiss to her knuckles, looking up at her with amusement in his eyes – there is laughter in hers – and then turns to leave. To leave his sorrows and what-ifs with her and to never take them back.


	13. Breakfast :: FadoHayden ::

Fado/Hayden is adorbs, tru fax.

* * *

"Come on, stand up." An annoyed grumble was the answer. "Hayden, stand up. It's already eight." The answer was yet again a grumble, which sounded a bit like 'g'way'.

Fado pursed his lips, frowned and stared at the still mostly asleep Hayden lying on their bed. A devious smile entered his face when he noticed how close Hayden was to the edge of the bed.

"I give you one last chance. Stand up." Hayden pulled the blanket closer around himself. "Fine," Fado muttered under his breath and prepared; he took a step back, aimed and jumped on the bed directly next to Hayden. He bounced up and over, rolling over the edge of the bed, and yelped in surprise.

"You lost your one chance," Fado said, grinning, and rolled onto his belly, looking down at the disgruntled Hayden. He pushed himself up, resting his head on the mattress, and stared at Fado expressionless – he could barely keep his eyes open. "Now wake up, sunshine." Hayden snorted unamused. "Na, don't be so grumpy." Fado leaned forward and kissed Hayden´s cheek. Hayden snorted again, this time amused and with his mouth quirking upwards. "Excellent. And now make me breakfast. It's your turn."


	14. Valentine :: BastianLucia ::

An old piece by now XD Somehow I always forgot about it.

* * *

She had expected to see him standing in the door, waiting for her. Frowning, Lucia slowly turned the key; with a low "click" the door sprang open.

It was Valentine´s day. Normally Bastian would've organised some sort of surprise. Two years ago he had filled the whole apartment with red roses – it had taken hours to clean up the next day. And five years ago he had ambushed her, taken her to a private hill outside of the city (she never found out how much money he had to pay for that evening) and then they had a nice picnic while watching the night sky.

Lucia stepped into the dark hallway. She quietly put her handbag on the drawer and slipped out of her coat. The whole apartment was quiet. Was he even at home?

She kicked her shoes off. His coat and shoes were here at least. Maybe he was hiding somewhere. Lucia slowly pushed the door to the living room open and peeked inside.

It was empty.

Her frown deepened. She entered the room; it looked exactly like she had left it that morning. The pillows of the couch were lying around (they had had a little pillow fight; Bastian had practically asked for it!) and the breakfast crockery was still on the table. That was even more strange; Bastian liked order and dirty plates were the bane of his life.

She started to worry. Was she so early that he had no time to clean up yet? A glance to the clock next to the table showed that she was perfectly on time. As always.

"Bastian!" Nobody answered.

She walked back into the hallway and checked the kitchen. It was empty as well; he hadn't made dinner. He had always made an elaborate dinner. Bastian knew that she loved his cooking.

Then he could only be in the bedroom. A crooked smile crept on Lucia´s face. Maybe he wanted to surprise her with something completely else. Her hips automatically started to sway slightly when she walked over to the dark brown door. The door opened with a low squeak. The room was dim.

"Bastian?" she whispered. She saw him lying in bed. "Bastian?" He didn't react.

Lucia frowned again. She walked over briskly and leaned over him. His breathing sounded strange; it was raspy and short. Blindly, she reached out for the light switch.

"Bastian!" The light fell on sickly white skin. A few yellow locks were sticking to his neck. Lucia sat down on the edge of the bed and turned him around; that seemed to wake him up. His dark green eyes fluttered open.

"M'love?" he mumbled and laid his arm sluggishly over his eyes to block out the light. Lucia pushed his hair out of his face.

"How are you feeling?"

"Brilliantly." A smile tugged at Lucia´s lips; of course he wouldn't admit anything. He let his arm sink slowly and looked up at her with glassy eyes. "I'm sorry."

Lucia frowned. "What are you talking about, you silly man?"

"I couldn't prepare anything but this little thing." He reached over to the nightstand and searched around in the top drawer. He pulled out a little box wrapped in a light yellow, sparkling paper.

"Thank you," Lucia said, lowly, and caressed his face. He tried to smile at her – his beautiful, bright smile – but it looked more like a grimace. Lucia turned her eyes to the present and carefully unpacked it; she never ripped the paper. You could still use it.

The box was dark blue and had a velvety surface. Lucia tilted her head towards the smiling Bastian. "Jewellery? Bastian, you know that I almost never wear jewellery." He only continued to smile.

"Just open it, my love."

With a sigh Lucia opened the box. There really was no ring or necklace or bracelet in it; there was only a folded piece of paper. Lucia raised one eyebrow and took the paper out, putting the box on the bed. Frowning, she unfolded the note and read it.

After reading it, she turned to Bastian with a gentle, bright smile. Bastian pushed himself into a sitting position, coughed once (away from her, of course), and grabbed her free hand, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. "A little bird told me that you've wanted to visit your nephew and the rest of your family for quite some time now. I hope you don't punish me for preparing a week full of joy."

"Be quiet, you," she answered in a playfully threatening voice. "I would kiss you, if you weren't sick."

"Oh! How cruel fate can be!" He fell back dramatically, a woeful expression on his face, which was quickly destroyed by an amused grin. "No love for me on Valentine´s day."

"Hush." She let her fingers glide over his cheek, caressing his white face before standing up. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes, my love." He suppressed a yawn. "A bit."

Lucia blew him kiss – which he caught with his hand – and left to make him a plain Valentine´s dinner.


	15. Latenight Occurrence :: SethFado ::

Nnnnnnnnnn, god, it's so much fun to write this pairing. For a long time, it's the first pairing where I like an onesided approach. I like harmony too much right now :P

This is a chapter that dances on the border between T and M, in my opinion. The prompt was "Lust". I think that should give you some kind of hint what this chapter is about.

* * *

Entering King Fado´s private rooms was always a challenge for Seth. He never knew what he would see. Often enough it was perfectly harmless and the king wouldn't look much different than he did in the public. But sometimes, when a report or news came late, Seth had to seek him out after he had turned from "king" into a "normal man".

At those times, it was almost unbearable for Seth to see him. King Fado´s normal appearance already made his heart go haywire, but the easiness and warmth the king radiated when he acted casually caused so many unwanted (and unclean) thoughts in Seth that it was pure torture. He must be a masochist, Seth reasoned as he knocked on the king´s bedroom, for he still came back and was excited despite this knowledge.

"Who is it?" he heard the king call behind the door.

"Lieutenant Seth, Your Majesty!"

"Oh, come in." Seth licked his lips once and blanked his expression before entering. King Fado looked up at him, smiling friendly; he was sitting on his bed with his bare left foot on his lap. It seemed that Seth had disturbed him during a foot massage. Before Seth could apologize, Fado stood up and walked over. "Who's it this time?"

"Lord Desilver," Seth answered curtly. He offered King Fado the letter; he took it and went over to throw the letter carelessly on his desk.

"What does he want?" he asked as he walked back to his bed and picked up his sleeping attire. Seth swallowed heavily after eyeing the white shirt and shortish pants.

"I do not know the details, but it seems to be about the problems he has with some of the border villages."

"Still?" Fado asked over his shoulder; he stared at the light pants and after a second he threw them on a chair by the window. Seth swallowed again. _The shirt is too short to cover much_. Seth bit hard on his lower lip and shooed the mental image away. "I thought I told him to contact the mayors or Queen Ismaire. I don't want to intervene if he doesn't even try to resolve this peacefully." King Fado shook his head and grabbed the hem of his shirt. Seth dropped his eyes to the ground as King Fado made to pull it off. He focused his gaze on the edge of the intricate carpet.

"He claims to have talked with them. With no solution."

"'He claims'..." King Fado repeated thoughtfully. "Seth, has General Karl sent someone to investigate?"

"I don't know." There was a short silence.

"Seth, are you lying to me?" Seth flinched visibly and yanked his head up. For a moment, the shock even kept him from noticing King Fado´s bare upper body.

"S-sire?"

"Or is there another reason why you're staring at the ground?" The king didn't look angry, for which Seth was grateful. The look of being offended was only marginally better, though.

"I'm sorry, sire. I just didn't want to-" he swallowed hard again, "stare at you." King Fado raised his eyebrows high.

"I didn't believe you would be uncomfortable if I change." Seth quickly shook his head, his heart slamming against his throat for a variety of reasons.

"I'm not, sire. I just found it improper to watch." He bowed his head. Suddenly King Fado laughed loudly.

"Don't be silly, Seth." When Seth peeked through his bangs, he saw the king waving his concerns off and turning around. "Well, then. Has Karl told you anything else?" Seth straightened, forced his heart to stop from jumping all around his chest and turned his gaze on the king. The sight of the king´s broad and muscular back was no help, though. Feeling ashamed off himself, Seth let his gaze quickly roam over his liege. King Fado didn't look his age, Seth observed once again.

"Not much, sire," he said, almost in a trance. Seth watched the muscles move under his skin every time the king shifted; it was too fascinating.

"Anything about his behaviour towards Jehanna?" Seth´s gaze wandered up to King Fado´s strong neck; his hair stroked his skin whenever he moved and the sudden wish to kiss his neck overcame Seth for a second. His eyes lingered there for a long time. Seth´s mouth became dry.

"No, sire. We have no reports of any complaints."

"At least something." Suddenly Seth´s gaze was magically yanked downwards. He had already registered the certain movement of King Fado´s arms before, but only now as the trouser was falling, he was able to stop his goggling of the king´s upper body. Seth was still every time aroused by the king´s relatively small hips and tight behind. A big lump was stuck in Seth´s throat. "Very well, I hope there's a bit more information in the letter."

Seth balled his fist and ordered his blood to stay in the upper part of his body – it didn't help much. His gaze flickered up and down – the king´s strong arms, to his ass again, then down to the lean legs, up to his ass again, then to his shoulders, down to his ass again – and his breathing grew short and laboured. Suddenly King Fado twisted his body to the side and a gasp got caught in Seth´s throat. Almost, almost he had seen the front. Seth bit down hard, _very hard_, on his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. His groin was throbbing with yearning.

"Yes, sire. May I return to my duties now?" Seth asked, trying to make his voice sound normal, and opened his eyes. The king had pulled his sleeping shirt over by now and only his hairy legs were still visible.

"Of course," Fado said, smiling at him. "Sleep well." Seth bowed hastily.

"Thank you, sire, good night." He turned on his heels and almost stormed out of the room.

Seth walked directly back to his room, avoiding to talk or even look at anyone. When he was finally in the safety of his room, he drew deep breaths. Since after a few minutes of silence the throbbing in his groin still hadn't disappeared, he groaned in defeat and dropped his pants.

Strangely enough, afterwards he no longer felt pained. Quite the opposite, he couldn't wait for the next time he had to visit the king´s room late in the evening and could feel the forbidden excitement.


	16. Calculation :: FemVigardeFado ::

I like Victoria (FemVigarde) and Fado, but somehow it's really hard to see them as a real couple. A fling or two, maybe, but a relationship... is questionable.

**Attention**: Implied sex at the end, Fado is 16/17 in this fic.

* * *

"It is always worth to try get at the father through the son." was the last thing Victoria´s father told her that evening. He had disappeared, then, with his most loyal allies ('lapdogs' was more fitting, Victoria thought) in the throng to find his original target, the king of Renais. She sighed, willed away her incoming headache, corrected the fit of her dress and went to find that prince of Renais.

A few men called her over, either to win some favours with the emperor (they knew the same proverb as her father, it seemed) or to win a favour from her. She only waved them off with a charming smile. Men who approached her could always wait, Victoria knew, they rarely had great value to her father.

Eventually she found the prince of Renais sitting in a corner together with what seemed to be his personal knights. Victoria stopped for a moment, wondered how they had got admission to this private feast, but quickly gathered her wits again. Pushing her long, wavy violet hair over her shoulders, she walked over with long strides and an inviting smile. The two men, who looked nothing like nobles, jumped to their feet and bowed low (knights, just as she had thought); the prince first only turned his head. When he recognized her, he stood and offered her his hand.

"Princess Victoria," he said with a broad smile. Victoria accepted his hand and they exchanged a kiss on the cheek; Victoria had to bend down to him. She was taller than most men she knew and at times found this fact very empowering.

"Prince Fado, have you been hiding from me? I haven't been able to meet you since you arrived here two days ago." His smile turned a tad apologetic – it didn't seem too honest to Victoria.

"There was too much to see." He threw a quick look at his knights. "I rather explore than sit at home."

"I see." Victoria smiled pleasantly even though she found his attitude very unbefitting for someone of his station. "Well, have you enjoyed what you've seen?" She shifted slightly so that the cloth of her dress fell differently and emphasized her breasts. Prince Fado didn't seem to notice.

"I did." His eyes lit up. "We've been to the Great Colosseum and watched the fights." For a second, her smile twitched into a smirk. Of course he would like that, she thought, every man she knew liked the Colosseum. "I've wanted to join the fighters in the arena, but Louis, here, " he jerked his head over to the older looking knight, "stopped me." Victoria blinked surprised as Prince Fado huffed – he was almost pouting. "I would've shown them what a real warrior is."

"Of course you would have," the older looking knight said and bowed. "But that would've been unfair to all the other fighters, wouldn't it? They are earning their living with this 'sport'. It would not have been proper for a prince to take that away, would it?"

Victoria watched curiously how Prince Fado first grew pink with embarrassment and then nodded sheepishly. The knight named Louis only smiled amused in return.

"I wouldn't have kept the money," Fado mumbled and focused his attention solely on Victoria. Louis just bowed, still smiling knowingly. "Anyway, we've also been to the sea."

"You haven't been to the sea often, have you?" Victoria asked before she could truly think about her question. She slapped herself mentally when Fado grinned broadly at her question.

"Every year I visit Frelia, we go to the beach. But the sea is different here," he added thoughtfully. "Frelia´s sea is calmer, most of the time. Though the storms are worse. I hear it has to do with the rocks and mountains underwater..." He threw a questioning look at Victoria, who nodded. "Have you ever been to Frelia?"

Victoria bit herself on the tongue before all the (pathetic, in her opinion) reasons her father had given her for why she was never allowed to set foot on Frelian ground could fall from her lips. "No," she just said with a polite smile.

"That's too bad." Curiously, Victoria noted that his smile was a bit tampered. Her wonder didn't live long, though. Fado suddenly seemed to remember something and gestured to the sofa he had been sitting on earlier. "Please, have a seat." As Victoria threw him a warm smile and sat down, the two knights suddenly bowed and excused themselves. She felt relieved that they left on their own; the conversation would've been much more awkward if she had to ask them to leave. Now she could act as if she had started the conversation without any ulterior motives.

"Thank you." Victoria crossed her legs and leaned back against the low backrest; the long slit in her skirt of her otherwise modest dress offered a generous sight of her shapely legs – when she was standing the slit was barely noticeable. A tiny pearl tied the two pieces of her skirt together at the very end and another in the middle so that she didn't lose complete control of her dress. Victoria caught Fado at throwing a quick glance at her legs. She smiled, even though he immediately looked away again. Leaning back, she slightly arched her back in a way that would emphasize her curves.

"Grado is a very beautiful country," Fado said into his cup of spiced wine.

"It is." Victoria pushed her hair back over her shoulder and let her gaze roam over the room. 'Never let them notice that you're watching them' – amongst other things – had been hammered into her head since she had started to talk and understand words.

Victoria let the conversation die down for a moment; she watched Fado closely enough, though, so that she knew when he let his guard down. To her delight, he was no uptight person and after a few sips of wine, he turned to her, smiling.

"You seem happy," she remarked.

"I'm always happy when I can travel around. I love seeing all of Magvel. I hope that I can convince my father to let me travel north instead to Serafew when we return home." He seemed to grow giddy at the thought. Victoria´s smile became genuine for a moment. "Have you heard of the hunting grounds they have along the mountain border? It's said that the strongest and biggest bears live there." Fado´s eyes started to shine.

"Well, yes, but you can find the bears in every mountainous region in Grado. It's just that in the borderland there are less places for them to hide than in other regions." While Victoria had been talking, a storm cloud seemed to have gathered over Fado´s head; it took Victoria aback.

"Well, that's no challenge then." He crossed his arms and leaned back. "We'll have to go somewhere else." Victoria blinked slowly; she had manoeuvred herself into an awkward direction, she noticed. Instead of enforcing his good mood, she unintentionally had worsened it. Her tongue flickered out and over her lips.

"You can hunt bears to the west of Serafew," she offered, slowly. "The forests are dense there, and the Borgo Mountains make the weather unpleasant." Her suggestion seemed to please the Renaitian prince. Victoria relaxed while thinking that this prince had a strange idea of how hunting should look like.

"I'll have to try that," he said with a smile. "Then I won't have to argue with my father too much." He nodded to himself. Victoria wanted to make a grab for her cup of wine to flush down her slight uncertainty (she had rarely that many difficulties with winning someone´s attention), but she felt it would be too obvious if she had to drape herself over the sofa again.

"The negotiations are taking long, aren't they," Victoria said with a sigh and looked around the room. Their fathers were not in sight. In the corners of her eyes, she saw Fado nodding. "Well, thanks to that I have the chance to meet you." She threw him a look that was supposed to prompt him to sigh in sympathy. He just smiled politely – it did not rattle her, but she took it as a warning. She looked away.

"I didn't think they would be over quickly," Fado said after an awkward second. "My father doesn't look like it, but he's as stubborn as I." His genuine broad smile was back. "If he absolutely doesn't like something, you can't force him to accept." Victoria frowned inwardly; this was why her father had been in such a bad mood yesterday. Outwardly, she feigned sympathy.

"That sounds familiar," she answered. Victoria grew more confident when he laughed in answer. She was on the right path, she thought. "Though it's a sad thing, don't you believe?" She crunched up her forehead in a concerned manner – when he looked over, she tilted her head towards him. "It would be far more beneficial for both Renais and Grado if the negotiations would go over more smoothly." When she saw that she had his full attention, she shifted – her skirt moved and displayed a tad more of her long legs – and looked him in the eye. "Rulers shouldn't be that stubborn, I believe."

"Well, I don't think..." He hesitated and avoided her gaze. Victoria was a bit worried because he hadn't sneaked a look at all. Maybe he isn't into legs, she thought and leaned closer, acting as if she wanted to hear him better, so that her breasts were squished upwards by her arms. "I believe my father has his reasons for being stubborn," he finally said.

Victoria frowned and looked as genuinely confused as she could. "How do you know?" She looked away and pushed a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. In the corners of her eyes she saw him watch her movement so she took her time and let her finger innocently glide over her cheek and neck before placing her hand in her lap. "I cannot think of a reason why he would. I don't understand why your father discourages a new trading agreement. We could've already be celebrating." She threw him an innocently questioning look. The almost blank expression on his face surprised her.

"If my father 'discourages' this agreement, he has his reasons." Victoria steeled herself as he pronounced the word "discourage" very slowly. "If you want to find out how to convince him, I cannot help you." That took Victoria visibly aback.

"Prince Fado, I did not intent to-"

"Then you're always acting like this?" he interrupted her, raising his eyebrows in wonder. She stared at him confused. "Your posing," he added. "How you're sitting."

"I don't know what you mean," she quickly retorted, but her voice was tight and not convincing.

"If you say so..." He tilted his head and his expression spoke volumes; she had lost her credibility. "Your acting just seems... unnatural."

"Unnatural?" She blinked and decided to let all pretences fall; she sat up and her back rejoiced. "You're the first to tell me that."

"Truly?" he asked in wonder. "I found it really obvious."

"How so?" Victoria was curious now. Fado started to smile again.

"Well, you just looked like you were trying to seem happy even though you aren't." Her headache gently knocked against her temples to remind her that it was still there. "And while the position of your legs looked natural," he threw a look at her legs, which were mostly hidden now (Victoria noticed that _now_ his gaze lingered), "the rest of you didn't." He laughed. "You looked pretty uncomfortable." Victoria gave a long, suffering sigh.

"You're more perceptive than other men." Fado laughed again.

"I don't think so. The other men are just blinded by your beauty." Victoria genuinely smiled at him. She didn't heed most compliments, because she was never sure they were honest, but this one she had earned, in a way.

"Thank you." He gave her a short, almost mocking bow, which made her laugh. She sighed, feeling comfortably, and rested her head on one hand. "So your father doesn't share his political decisions with you?" Fado threw her a suspicious look for a second, but she seemed to look genuine enough for him to relax again.

"No. He's a bit... peculiar about it."

"How so?"

"Well..." Fado looked at his lap sheepishly. "He talks to my tutors too often to care about my opinion about politics." Despite herself, Victoria laughed with him. "I assume your father involves you?" Fado asked after they had calmed.

"Yes," she said, nodding, "from the very beginning. He thinks one learns more by watching and participating than by dry lessons." Fado nodded thoughtfully.

"Understandable. Though my father probably wouldn't have had the patience to let me watch his meetings." His grin turned decidedly impish. Victoria laughed again and slumped without noticing. His easiness seemed to infect her. She pulled her legs close and raked one hand through her hair.

"You are a handful, I see." She was still smiling when she turned to him again; slightly surprised she caught him staring at her legs. He quickly yanked his gaze up to her when he noticed that she was watching him.

"I don't believe you're doing that intentionally this time..." Confused and curiously, Victoria threw a quick look at her skirt; the slit had shifted and was now displaying not only much of her thigh but also half of her knee and lower leg. She smiled crooked when she looked up at Fado through her eyelashes.

"Actually, no." Fado lowered his gaze and looked pointedly.

"You've wanted to make me look earlier. Is it forbidden now?" Victoria hesitated; the question seemed so strange and unfamiliar to her that it took her a moment to decide if Fado was serious or mocking her. The moment of hesitation gave her the opportunity to look at him more closely; his hair seemed unruly and was all over the place, his face had still a trace of boyishness though the rest of him was clearly 'adult' – he was not her type, but cute. Suddenly his gaze met hers; his eyes were gleaming.

Her decision was made.

"No." His mouth curled into a strangely reserved smile – a sensual smile, she thought, and she returned it. Victoria let her free hand glide down, stroking her bare skin, and rested it on her knee. Fado shifted, turning his body towards her. His gaze was roaming over her, from her legs up to her waist and breasts. His smile widened the more he saw. Excitement flared up in Victoria´s chest; such open appreciation was nothing unusual for her, but the fact that he seemed to be genuinely interested in _her_ made this moment so unusual.

Then suddenly his gaze arrived at hers. They looked at each other for a moment – he had very pretty green eyes, Victoria thought – before Fado leaned forward. Victoria met him halfway.

Their kiss was surprisingly gentle at first; judging from the impression he had given her, Victoria had expected more passion. But these gentle caresses, the slow approach and his teasingly nipping of her lower lip made her heart jump far higher than a passionately aggressive kiss would have.

After a beautiful moment, Victoria pulled back. "We should take this elsewhere, shouldn't we," she whispered huskily. Fado´s grin broadened and he nodded. They stood up and sneaked out of the ballroom hand in hand.

The next day Victoria told her father that the night had been unsuccessful. Which was not entirely untrue, Victoria reasoned, for her father hadn't got what he wanted. She, however, had found a friend and had a pleasant night.


	17. The End of Animosity :: FadoCatalina ::

For Modern Day Lina and Fado this seems the perfect way to learn to like each other, lol. The tension just had to get out so that they can get to know each other in a calm mood. XD Love them.

**This is an M-rated chapter. Rated for sex.**

* * *

"Fine, why not."

Catalina hadn't seem too happy, but Fado wasn't surprised. They had started on a bad note; they had had a stupid misunderstanding and neither seemed to be able to accept the apology completely (she was always curt with him and snarky, and he couldn't help but reciprocate the feeling). She had only wanted to drop Aileen off at Hayden´s and then meet up with another friend of hers for a little game of basketball. She was already dressed for the game; sweatshirt and shorts. Fado´s gaze had immediately been drawn to her legs – her beautiful, strong legs that her shorts couldn't hide.

And then her friend had called and cancelled the game. Why Fado then had offered to play with her, he wasn't completely sure. It had been a spontaneous decision; he felt like playing (Hayden and Vigarde and seemingly everybody else was busy), he had time and he was shirking his coursework and therefore bored. The wrinkling of her nose had been cute but dismissive.

Fado sped to his and Vigarde´s apartment to change and a few minutes later he met Catalina in her car.

There he was now, listening to some rock music blaring from the radio and bobbing his head to the beats, while Catalina drove them to a public playing field at the edges of the town. They didn't talk during the drive, but Fado caught Catalina mumbling a few lyrics under her breath every now and then (during songs he liked and disliked – he couldn't condemn her choice of music completely).

When they finally entered the parking lot, two young men waved and jogged over. After they got out of the car, Catalina motioned to the blond guy. "That's Linus. He's in one of my maths courses and we've been playing baseball together for a few years." She gestured to the redhead next to him. "And that's Jared. He's our neighbour and damn good at basketball." Fado clapped hands with both of them.

"I'm Fado, an... acquaintance." He threw a look at Catalina as he slowly pronounced the last word. She rolled her eyes.

"He's a friend," she corrected him and walked past him, shoving him lightly with her shoulder. "And now lets play. I'm amped up about a little game."

"Alright," said Linus and put his arm around Catalina´s shoulder as they walked over to the benches at the other end of the playing field, where the basketball and two bags were lying. Catalina seemed to ignore his advance and immediately jogged away from him as she saw the ball. Fado threw an inquiring look to Jared; he only shrugged and crinkled his freckled nose.

The teams were quickly decided; Catalina insisted on playing against Fado (to see if he really was as good an athlete as he claimed) and Linus declared himself her partner before Fado or Jared could even open their mouths. Fado inwardly raised his eyebrows at Linus´ obvious (and slightly desperate) attempt to come closer to Catalina; she obviously ignored him (or didn't get it).

"We have the ball," Catalina said and grabbed the basketball tightly, then dribbled a few times before tossing it forcefully at Linus. He caught it easily.

"Alright," Fado answered, a grin spreading on his face. He was already getting impatient.

After five minutes into the game, Fado had to admit that he had underestimated Catalina. She was quick and had excellent reactions; she might not have his aim, but she had more power behind her throws than he had guessed from her build. She easily got away from him when he tried to steal the ball from her. His ambition hadn't been that tickled for a long time.

Fado barely noticed how the other two played – somehow he always managed to get Catalina as an opponent. And she was a tough opponent.

Fado dribbled, sidestepped Linus´ attack and sped towards the basket – his mind already calculated the distance between him and the basket, the strength needed and if he could make a slam-dunk. Out of nowhere, he suddenly saw a red flash to his right and Catalina almost bowled into him, snatching the ball from his hand, turning away – almost making a pirouette around him – and tossing the ball towards Linus.

"Hey!" Fado exclaimed out of surprise. She laughed at him and ran towards the other basket, raising her arms to signal Linus to pass the ball.

Suddenly there was a strange noise. The game came to a halt.

"That's my phone," Linus said, carelessly tossed the ball to Jared, who stood the closest to him, and jogged over to their bags. Catalina´s shoulders slumped and she sighed loudly. Breathing heavily, Fado watched Linus picking up his phone. While Linus seemed to get pulled into a heated discussion, Catalina walked over to Jared and asked him to give the ball to her. Fado´s gaze flickered over to them and he watched Catalina dribble; first normally, then as quick and low as she could, then she passed it between her legs and when Linus finally came over again, she was almost dancing with the ball.

"I'm sorry, guys. I have to go." He shook his head apologetically. "My boss just called. Some emergency. I have to go to work right now."

"Oh man," Catalina sighed and caught the ball.

"Jared, can you drive me?" Linus turned to the redhead.

"Sure." He threw an uncertain look at Catalina. She shrugged.

"No problem. We can hardly play with only three people." Jared smiled first at her, then at Fado.

"Come on, lets go. T'was nice to meet you." Linus waved to Fado and walked to the benches to get their bags. Jared shook hands with Fado before saying goodbye to Catalina and met Linus at the entrance of the parking lot. In a matter of seconds they had disappeared. Catalina sighed again, her shoulders still slumped, and turned to Fado.

"So, still wanna play?" he asked her before she could open her mouth. She blinked confused. "You can't play well with three people, but you can with two." He switched into a defensive position and smirked at her. "Or are you too tired?"

Catalina tsked and a competitive grin entered her face. "Watch your mouth. You will beg for mercy when I'm done with you."

"Hey, hey, I thought we wanted to play basketball, not have sex." A burst of laugher escaped Catalina before she could control herself.

"Bigmouth." She violently tossed the ball towards him; he caught it and tossed it back. She switched into an attack stance. "It's on," she whispered.

She stormed towards him, dribbling, and he followed her movements closely. She made a step to the left, then the right and back; he wasn't fooled and shifted simultaneously from side to side. Suddenly she jumped towards the left, turned so that her back was to him and tried to get around him. He caught her in his arms without touching her, trying to cut off her way. Catalina wasn't impressed and dribbled here and there to keep the ball out of his reach. Fado snatched at it, but didn't get it.

Suddenly Catalina stepped forward, out of Fado´s embrace, and spun around, aimed quickly and threw the ball high over his head. He twisted on his axis; her aim was perfect. Without hitting the board, the ball fell through the net.

"Yeah!" she yelled and pumped her fist in the air while Fado collected the ball. She grinned at him broadly.

"Luck," he retorted. She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Pure skill." Fado hmph-ed and they switched places.

Without any delay, Fado attacked. Catalina caught him quickly – she had some difficulties to keep him captive because Fado was much stronger than her. He leaned back against her so that she couldn't see well and to mess up her balance. He felt her shift, her legs moving and skimming him, her chest pushing against his back as she strengthened her footing. His shirt clung to his back when he stormed to the left, around her, and threw the ball.

Fado grinned at her in triumph, but her back was turned to him; she didn't deign to give him the satisfaction of seeing her annoyance. He huffed and pouted for a second.

"Luck," she said when she turned, wrinkling her nose at him. Fado laughed.

"Of course!"

Fado couldn't count how many points they made nor did he know how long they were playing. He only knew that the more time was passing, the stickier his clothes grew and the harder it was to catch his breath. Both their chests were heaving greatly and they were gasping, but neither of them wanted to give up. Catalina´s eyes were ablaze with ambition – she wouldn't leave this field as the loser. Fado wouldn't either.

The air crackled between them as they assumed their positions again – it was hot and almost humid even though it was already late afternoon. Fado felt some tiredness creeping into his fingers and arms, but he fought and he wouldn't stop before Catalina.

She attacked and turned, almost bowling into him with her back. He gasped lightly at the touch. Her body was burning hot against his. Fado reached for the ball and touched it, but the feeling of rubber almost immediately disappeared. He growled and leaned closer, truly catching Catalina in his arms. The sweat on their bare arms seemed to mingle. In the next second, Fado felt a force against his chest and he stumbled a step back; Catalina had thrown herself backwards and half-turned. As she raised her arms and aimed, Fado plunged forwards to slap the ball from her hands.

He was too late; the ball was flying and he only caught her hands. He stumbled into her, instinctively pulling her in an embrace to stabilize both of them. Her breasts pressed against him and her ponytail clung to his sticky arm.

"Yes!" Catalina exclaimed and laughed. Fado turned and let go of her. The ball was bouncing away from them. "Got you." Her laugh sounded tired and she rested her hands on her hips, gasping for air. Fado wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, cleaning off some sweat.

"Yeah, you did." He turned to her. "You haven't won though." She tried to don an angry or dismissive expression, but she seemed mostly exhausted.

"I have." She stalked over to him, standing toe-to-toe with him, and straightened. "I have 23 points and you only 19." Fado stared back at her – he wouldn't let her win. This was not over. They were still for a moment, looking each other deep in the eye. It was still hot and sweat was dribbling down their backs. The air seemed to crackle again.

Fado suddenly noticed that Catalina´s eyes were piercing blue and there was a darker ring around her iris. Her lashes were long and thin. His breath stumbled and grew heavier. A familiar feeling clutched his stomach tight and then wandered downwards. His gaze flickered to her lips; they were average, her upper lip a bit bigger than her lower lip, though it wasn't particularly eye-catching. He found their slightly darker colour very pretty. And they seemed highly kissable.

The familiar feeling had arrived in his groin and sent shivers up his body. His gaze whipped up again and he looked her in the eye. They seemed to glow. Her mouth was slightly open and her breathing short.

For a second they stared and were completely motionless. Then suddenly Catalina yanked her arms upwards and around Fado´s neck, pulling him roughly to her, and smashed her lips against his. Almost in the same second Fado pulled her against him, slinging his arms around her waist.

They kissed hungrily and messily, skipping the modest-kissing-stage altogether, and Catalina let go of Fado´s neck to push her hands under his shirt and fondle his back and stomach. Fado took that as an invitation to explore her body as well. His hands wandered down her shorts to her ass; he squeezed it. It wasn't soft but muscular, just as the rest of her. After he had enough of her fine ass, his hands wandered upwards. He caressed her back – and groaned as Catalina finally lowered her hands into his pants and teased his dick – and pushed his searching fingers under her sports bra. Her breasts were small, a bit less than a handful, but it didn't matter – they felt wonderful against his palm.

Catalina suddenly pulled back – Fado didn't want to let her go away and snatched at her lips, placing a sloppy kiss on her chin; she tasted salty. "Wait," she said in a coarse and slightly shaky voice. "Not out in the open like this." Fado ignored her objection and pulled her close again, pressing his lips to hers. She returned the kiss, caressing his tongue, before she pulled away again. She was giggling now. "Fado, seriously. Let's go somewhere else." She pulled her hands from his shorts and stroked his cheeks.

"Alright," Fado murmured unwillingly. "Car?"

"No. I don't like car sex. Too uncomfortable." She kissed him between every word and pressed herself against him, rubbing her groin against his. Fado´s gaze flickered around, searching for a hideaway, and while he groped her ass again. Suddenly he spotted the public changing rooms to the left of them. He grinned and kissed Catalina deeply before pulling away and grabbing her hand.

"Come with me!" He dragged her behind him as he ran towards the building. Catalina was giggling, though she stopped surprised as Fado didn't enter the changing rooms but ran around to the back of the building. The playing field and changing rooms were at the edge of a light forest so behind the building was only wilderness. A few used tissues and cigarettes were lying here and there, partially hidden by leaves or twigs, but otherwise it was untouched.

Before Catalina could ask, Fado pressed her against the wall and kissed her. She moaned deeply as he stroked her tongue with his, caressed the roof of her mouth and fondled her thighs with his hands. Fado pulled away for a second to adjust his position and pull up her right leg so that their groins connected more directly. He groaned as he rubbed his half-erected penis against her.

Catalina gasped and pushed her hands under Fado´s shirt. "Shorts," she panted. Fado nodded hastily and pulled at the hem of her shorts as he sloppily kissed her neck. She gently scratched her fingernails over his back as his hands glided down her thighs. She stepped out of her shorts and kicked them away as Fado quickly yanked down his own.

"Come here," Catalina whispered, grabbed Fado´s face and turned it towards her to kiss him again. Fado immediately pressed against her, now feeling her pubic hair tickling the sweaty skin of his legs. His right hand shot downwards to feel her; she was wet and ready. He grinned into their kiss. He felt her smile back. He moved, opening his legs a bit to stand more firmly, and grabbed Catalina´s buttocks with both hands. Catalina leaned back to catch her breath and smile. With a grunt, Fado hoisted her on his hips – she clutched her legs around him as soon as she was at the right height.

Fado felt the tip of his penis gliding over her opening and getting coated with her juice. Catalina ran her hand over his neck and grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck. Fado entered her – she groaned in pleasure and gently pulled at his hair. "Nice," she breathed. Fado latched at her lips again, kissing her deeply, and started thrusting. Their pace was quick and desperate; Fado slammed hard and Catalina wasn't gentle either. She jerked her hips against him as best as she could from her position.

Fado ran his hands over her hips, down to her ass and squeezed it, almost massaging it. Catalina seemed to like it since she moaned every time he pressed his fingernails against her skin. Soon, far too soon, Fado felt himself growing weak – they had played too long and hard earlier. A frustrated groan slipped past his lips into Catalina´s mouth. It seemed to motivate her and suddenly Fado was the one receiving tongue caresses. Her tongue dancing against his made him shiver and the familiar pressure against the base of his balls grew strong.

Fado shifted suddenly, changing the position of his hands so that he could hold Catalina with one hand and sneak the other between them. He quickly found what he was looking for; when his middle finger graced her clitoris, Catalina moaned happily and tilted her hips so that he had better access. Fado grinned into the kiss and shifted his hand again, pulling open her labia. She gasped surprised as his groin connected with her clitoris at every thrust. Throwing her head back and biting her lips, she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Yes," she whispered and grasped Fado tightly, pressing her fingernails into his skin. The pain was dancing on the border between pleasure and discomfort and sent jolts to Fado´s balls. His thrusts grew frantic as the urge to let go became unbearably high. Suddenly he felt Catalina clenching around him, her gasp mingling with moans. The pressure on his balls seemed to explode and with a last jerk of his hip, he came.

Gasping for air, they stayed like that for a moment to get down from their lustful high. Fado rested his head on her shoulder – her skin was still hot. He felt Catalina shift and she pushed against his shoulders. Fado set her down carefully.

"That was nice," she said breathlessly.

"Yeah." He nodded and went to pick up and put on his shorts. In the corner of his eyes he saw that she did the same.

"Puh, I need a shower now." There was laughter in her voice as she checked her hair and smiled at him.

"Definitely." He grinned. She slapped his shoulder, still smiling, and walked back to the playing field. Fado hastened after her, his eyes glued to her behind, which she was swinging much more pronounced than before. They quickly gathered the basketball and Catalina´s purse and then walked back to the car.


	18. Middles :: MoulderHayden ::

Funnily enough, I had a mental picture of the last part much earlier than the first and the second one here. Makes it really hard to write the earlier ones, though. Anyway, I had fun with this. Writing young Moulder is surprisingly fun. Also, I so very much enjoy insituating that Hayden does work with dirty tricks sometimes. 8D

* * *

As Moulder approached his second year in Castle Frelia, his tasks grew harder and longer. He quickly found himself in the city group – about half of the new monks and the "veterans" went to town daily to support orphanages, small outposts of the church and did anything that popped up and could be done by them – for his fellow novices who came from regions closer to the capital decided that he needed to get to know the city. While he certainly liked his new tasks and thrived in this environment, he was sad that now he saw Prince Hayden far less frequently.

Despite still feeling ashamed for his feelings – _so inappropriate! The Prince of all people!_ – he couldn't suppress the boyish need to see his crush. The fact that it was this base want that motivated him to better his singing voice so that he would be placed at the altar again because he could see the prince from there the best was his biggest shame, though. Every time he opened his practice book of holy songs, he felt guilt. But looking at the prince always made his heart jump and tickled his skin so nicely...

Almost each night, as he flopped down on his bunk, he would think about this sin and any other he had done that day – so many concerning the prince... – and feel torn. Many times he prayed that the Goddess would forgive him – and in very weak moments he prayed that maybe, _maybe_ the Goddess could bring him closer to the prince.

As pretty much every night, his prayers were interrupted by the door of his sleeping room being flung open and laughter invading the room. Moulder sighed, turned on his side and looked towards the door. His three room mates – Gregor, Lewis and Bjorn – were coming back from the mess hall.

"There you are!" Gregor, a freckled blond boy with a pointy nose, called. Moulder nodded to him in acknowledgement.

"You're always so quick," said Bjorn, who had a strong drawl and who had to repeat himself often since he tended to mumble as well. His friends had learnt to understand him regardless.

"I'm just tired," Moulder retorted and let his head slide from his arm to his pillow. The three boys turned their attention back to an earlier conversation and started to change into their night clothes. Moulder turned on his back and stared at the ceiling, losing himself in his mind and reflections.

He was rudely yanked out of them, though, as he heard _the_ name: "– and Prince Hayden sent a battalion, I heard, but they've not reported back yet." Moulder shot up in a sitting position and looked at his room mates. Bjorn and Lewis, a dark green-haired boy who looked far older than he really was, were already lying on their bed while Gregor was standing around in front of his bed, arms crossed and looking thoughtfully into nothingness.

"What did Prince Hayden do?" Moulder asked. Gregor startled and looked at him. He promptly rolled his eyes as did Bjorn.

"Of course that would wake you up." Bjorn and Lewis snickered; Moulder blushed.

"What did he do?" he repeated, his voice slightly quivering.

"You remember the missing cargo from Grado?" Lewis asked and propped his head on his hand. Moulder crinkled his forehead.

"They're talking about almost nothing else," Bjorn added. Gregor nodded and flopped down on his bed.

"A ship disappeared, just behind the border. Nobody knows what happened and the emperor is angry 'cause it disappeared on our side. Prince Hayden sent men to investigate." Moulder swallowed and nodded. He had heard rumours about the emperor´s temper and his view of Frelia.

"And Prince Hayden has found nothing yet." Gregor nodded.

"Yeah. And Grado seems to get impatient."

"The prince gotta hurry," Bjorn commented, crossing his arms behind his head. "Or Grado'll get someone´s head."

"The prince will surely find the culprit and the ship," Moulder said. "There is nothing Prince Hayden couldn't do." He almost immediately regretted saying that aloud; new snickers arose from the others. Gregor rolled his eyes again.

"Of course our _dearest_ Prince Hayden can do everything," Lewis said, his voice wobbling from his suppressed laughter.

"Yes, he snips his fingers and suddenly the thieves'll just turn up and confess because Prince Hayden says so!" Gregor added. Moulder was blushing furiously by now. Bjorn guffawed – even his laugh seemed to be drawled.

"Prince Hayden has already proved that he is the best investigator in Magvel," Moulder said, trying to be heard over their laughter, "and there is no reason to think he won't resolve this case as well."

"Yeah, yeah, Moulder, our prince is the best," Gregor said and waved him off. "But hey, maybe the culprit wasn't some bandits." The other two boys quickly fell silent and looked at Gregor with curiosity in their eyes.

"What do'ya mean?" Bjorn asked and pushed himself up, sitting cross-legged.

"I mean, think about," Gregor said and leaned back against the stone wall, "last negotiations with Grado went bad, didn't they?" Moulder nodded; it had been hard to miss that spectacle. The ambassador of Grado seemed to have treated the king horribly – or so Moulder heard – and reported every tiny insult to the emperor; suffice to say that toll charges for Gradian products had skyrocketed.

"You mean Grado had something to do with the missing ship?" Lewis asked curiously.

"Well, it could be," Gregor said with a shrug. "Would be a great excuse for a war."

"War?" Moulder exclaimed shocked. "Why do you believe the emperor would want war?"

"Well, I don't know," Gregor admitted. "But it could be. Or they want reparations for the missing ship and crew."

"Or blame Frelia for some mistake someone else made," Bjorn chimed in. "And embarrass us in return."

"But wouldn't something else be better for that...?" Lewis asked and pulled his blanket up to his chest.

"Maybe." Gregor shrugged and picked his blanket up as well, draping it over his shoulders. "But maybe this was convenient." Bjorn nodded thoughtfully, Lewis fell silent and stared at the ceiling. Moulder frowned doubtfully.

"Or..." Bjorn said after a few minutes of silence and shuffling around. The other boys turned their gazes to him. "Or Prince Hayden arranged it."

"Arranged what?" Moulder asked, feeling highly alarmed.

"The missing ship," Bjorn said and slowly sat up. Moulder´s face fell; he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"So you're saying that Prince Hayden wants to provoke Grado?" Gregor asked and turned on his belly to look over to Bjorn´s bunk.

"Yah, maybe." Bjorn shrugged. "The prince also arranged the contracts with Carcino and you know how they turned out for them." Lewis snickered.

"You're right. They're probably still angry about that. Prince Hayden is really sneaky."

"Be quiet," Moulder said angrily. "Prince Hayden wasn't sneaky. If the representatives from Carcino had paid attention, this wouldn't have happened."

"But Prince Hayden _still_ added that article, remember," Lewis argued. "So he still tried to cheat them." The adrenalin throbbed loudly in Moulder´s ears. He couldn't let them badmouth the prince like that!

"How do you know that he was the one who added it? Maybe it was an advisor or the king himself. Prince Hayden would never knowingly deceive someone."

"Moulder, your trust in the prince is surely endearing," Gregor made a little pause for effect, "to someone. But the prince is no saint." Moulder blushed again; this time the red even reached his ears. "As a prince you can't be one."

"You can," Moulder argued heatedly. He would not let them talk like this! Gregor rolled his eyes again, but this time there was no amusement on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, go to sleep now, Moulder. We're tired of your apologizing." Moulder huffed, turned to the wall and pulled his blanket up high. He tried to shut the voices of his room mates out and thankfully soon the light of the only lamp was extinguished. Moulder laid awake for quite some time – the conversation had enraged him so much that his face was still burning and his mind whirling – and only when he was surround by three different snores, he found some rest.

###

The next morning, Moulder still hadn't forgot what his friends had said last night. He was no longer angry, though, just slightly miffed. His room mates seemed to have left it behind them already and were joking like always at breakfast. Moulder hadn't had it in him to join their joking. He silently ate his gruel and then went to attend the morning prayer of the monks in the church.

He was quite happy that he had cleaning duty that day and didn't have to join Gregor, Bjorn and Lewis in the city. The solitary morning in the silent church would do him good; he could sort out his thoughts and cool down. Every time Gregor, Bjorn or Lewis had addressed him during breakfast, his face had turned hot. Even though yesterday night hadn't come up.

Disgruntled, Moulder fetched the broom from the hidden store room and began to clean around the entrance door.

His thoughts quickly returned to the accusations against Prince Hayden. Moulder had thought highly of his friends before – even though they had always teased him about his excitement over everything the prince did – but this had seriously made him doubt the state of their minds. How could anyone think that Prince Hayden would do such reprehensible things like provoking a war with Grado? Moulder clicked his tongue and accidentally hit a sitting row with his broom. He glared admonishingly at the broom and then continued his cleaning more carefully.

Moulder still liked his friends, despite their obvious fault, and he was angry that he was angry at them. He shook his head at that thought. But he couldn't understand why they would think like that. The thought that Prince Hayden would even want to spoof anyone... Moulder had seen how good a person the prince was. That couldn't be true.

Moulder sighed heavily. Slowly, he dragged the broom between the second and first row and then stepped forward. He stood in front of the altar; his gaze slowly travelled from the decorated white stone up to the colourful glass high above it. Latona was displayed there, her hand raised in a sign of acceptance and love. Moulder sighed internally. Then he turned his head to the first seat on the left row. There the prince always sat and listened to Moulder´s singing.

"No, he isn't a bad person," Moulder mumbled to himself and averted his gaze, dropping it to his feet. He pressed his mouth close tightly. It was all a lie, that he was sure off. Someone else was trying to dirty the prince´s name. And surely the prince would soon unveil said dark plan and-

His train of thought was interrupted by the creaking of a door. Moulder looked over his shoulder, hiding a glare, and squinted to see the intruder.

"Brother Moulder, here you are," the person said and walked around the column that was hiding him.

"Father Larov," Moulder almost squeaked with embarrassment and bowed deeply.

"Yes, yes, Brother Moulder, hurry up," the red-haired man said, hastening over and waving dismissively. "The bishop needs your service."

"My service?" Moulder asked surprised as he straightened.

"Yes. He wants you to bring this letter to the prince."

"The prince!" Moulder was too overwhelmed to feel gleeful at the thought that he would meet and speak with the prince again!

"Yes." Father Larov frowned with impatience. "The prince seems to like you so it is more probable that the letter will reach him when you're the messenger." Moulder hesitated – Larov pulled a neat letter from his robe and almost threw it in Moulder´s direction.

"The prince likes me?" he asked confused. Larov´s face darkened and he pointedly looked at the letter in his hand. Moulder quickly took it and only then Father Larov seemed to relax.

"Yes, yes, so I've heard. And now hurry. The bishop wants a quick answer."

"Yes, Father Larov," Moulder said, his tongue almost stumbling over the words, bowed and jogged to the storage room to throw the broom in and then slipped through the church door. He would be able to meet Prince Hayden!

###

Moulder quite enjoyed the rush of adrenalin that was racing through his whole body as he walked to the prince´s office, as the guards stopped him and he explained why he was here, as he waited while one guard talked to the prince and as the door was finally opened. His hands were trembling when he entered the large room.

At first Moulder didn't see the prince, only a big, broad desk on the right side. Moulder was in awe; he had never before seen such fine wood, such carefully and detailed carvings nor a desk of this size. Back in his home cloister and even here the monks´ desks were so small they could barely place anything more than paper and ink on it. But at this desk several people could sit and work.

Moulder´s shoulders slumped and he swallowed hard. He felt so very small and stupid. Moulder flinched as suddenly a door opened behind him; he whirled around.

"Brother Moulder, what a surprise to see you again," Prince Hayden said with a pleasant smile as he entered the room. Moulder stiffened, blushed and nodded simultaneous. He hastily added a bow after the prince had greeted him with a nod. Now he also felt foolish and clumsy.

The prince pushed his sleeves up, walked around the table and sat down. "I've heard you have a letter for me?" Moulder nodded and stepped forward, extending the hand that clutched the letter so hard it crumbled lightly.

"Yes, Prince Hayden. It is a letter from Bishop Findlay." A tiny crease appeared between the prince´s eyebrows, which rattled Moulder greatly. He quickly stepped back and glued his gaze to the ground. He only heard how the prince broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Many painful seconds passed. Adrenalin was still tickling and racing through Moulder´s body, but this was not the pleasant adrenalin from earlier. This felt more like walking through the Jehannan desert with winter clothing on.

"Brother Moulder, why did the bishop sent this through you?" Moulder swallowed hard; his whole body was trembling. The prince´s voice sounded so serious.

"Father Larov said that he thought it was likelier that the letter would reach you if I were the messenger." More painful seconds passed and Moulder started to think that meeting the prince, crush or not, was not exactly a good thing.

"Brother Moulder, I want you to bring my answer letter to the bishop, if you have no other duties at the moment." Moulder peeked at the prince through his hair. Hayden had already grabbed a quill and dipped it into his ink glass.

"Of course, Prince Hayden," Moulder mumbled. Hayden wrote quickly, folded the paper and sealed it with red wax. He then placed the letter on the edge of the table. Insecurely, Moulder stepped forward and took it. He hesitated, held the letter against his chest and looked at the prince. Hayden noticed it after he had placed the quill in its holder.

"Is there something else?" he asked with one quirked eyebrow.

"Ah, well, sire, I was wondering..." Moulder stammered and dropped his gaze to his feet. "If I may a-ask a question."

"You may."

"Thank you, sire. I've wanted to ask about the missing ship."

"Why?" Moulder swallowed again – what a resistant lump in his throat – as the prince leaned back in his chair, folded his hands and looked so serious again.

"I've heard many, uhm, rumours lately." Moulder clutched the letter nervously. "Some say that Grado let the ship disappear to damage Frelia´s name." He couldn't bring himself to repeat what his room mates had said about the prince; those words would never pass his lips.

"I see." The prince seemed to relax at his words; Moulder wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "I can neither verify nor negate this accusation. We do not know enough yet." The pleasant smile entered the prince´s face again and for the first time, Moulder let the prince look him in the eye. Moulder was immediately enchanted by the prince´s beautiful grey eyes. The pleasant adrenalin shot into his cheeks.

"I've told them to stop gossiping," Moulder hastily said and averted his gaze; the direct eye contact made him too excited.

"That is laudable." Moulder could not prevent the silly grin from entering his face, but at least he could partially hide it by bowing his head.

"Thank you, Prince Hayden."

"Very well, then. Please take the letter to-" Prince Hayden stopped suddenly and inclined his head to the door. Moulder perked his ears; there was a small commotion. Moulder looked at the door, curious and slightly angry; making such a ruckus and interrupting the prince like that was very rude. "Guards!" the prince called; he looked so serious again. The door was opened and one of the guards bowed to the prince. Behind him Moulder could see a newcomer; a pegasus knight who wheezed and had flushed cheeks. Her hair was in a disarray and it didn't seem like she had slept much lately.

"My apologies, Your Highness," the guard said, "a messenger from Grado has arrived and says that she has urgent news." Prince Hayden shot up in a straight position. Moulder was slightly startled and retreated back – he knew he should leave completely, but the serious atmosphere intimidated him and he'd rather say nothing at all and slink around the messenger so that nobody would notice him.

"Let her in." The prince seemed to have forgot about Moulder as well; his eyes were glued to the pegasus knight, who hurried to catch her breath. The guard bowed, let the messenger slide past him and closed the door. "What is it?" Moulder despaired inwardly as the door clunk shut.

"Your Highness, Emperor Vanya is dead." Moulder startled, his gaze shooting over to the prince. Hayden was positively flabbergasted – he quickly hid his astonishment and donned a strict expression.

"What are the circumstances?"

"Not much is known yet, Your Highness." The pegasus knight´s breathing finally had calmed and she shifted into a stiff, alert stance. "The only information Prince Vigarde and the councilmen have released is that the emperor has died during the night in his sleep. There has been rumours about the emperor´s health, but no concrete information."

"What is your assessment of this rumour?"

"I found it not to be true, sire," the pegasus knight said and nodded sharply. "Emperor Vanya seemed to be in good health." Prince Hayden shifted, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table. He rested his chin on his folded hands.

"What about other rumours? Are there any suspects?"

"Yes, Your Highness, but most of them should not be trusted, in my opinion. Many are heavily biased and accusing their own particular enemies." Hayden nodded, by now frowning lightly. "The councilmen have announced that they will investigate the case, but at the time of my departure nothing had happened yet."

"When did you leave?"

"Three days after Emperor Vanya´s death, Your Highness." Prince Hayden´s frown deepened. Moulder shifted uncomfortably; he knew he shouldn't be here. It had been a mistake not to speak up earlier. He felt like he would regret it bitterly. "Lady Beatrice is still in Grado and observes the investigators closely as well as the Imperial Prince and his wife."

"Good." Moulder flinched when Prince Hayden suddenly pushed his chair back and stood up. He slowly walked around his desk, crossing his arms. "What about their investigation of the missing _Pride_ and her cargo?"

"Most of the investigators were called back. On the day of my departure there were rumours that the whole investigation would be dropped, but neither Lady Beatrice nor I were sure how true those rumours are." Hayden nodded thoughtfully – he was pacing in front of his desk by now. His gaze was lowered, which was probably the only thing that saved Moulder from being detected. He was almost pressed against the wall by now and felt the cold of the stones creep through his robes.

"Understood." Prince Hayden came to a halt and turned to the pegasus knight. "Well done, Lady Ann. You are dismissed." A smile crept on the face of the pegasus knight and she saluted. "You're getting new orders tomorrow or the day after tomorrow." She nodded and then turned and strode towards the door.

As soon as the door fell close behind her, Prince Hayden sighed through his nose. Moulder swallowed hard. Now after he heard and saw everything, it would be even harder to leave without any repercussions. He cursed himself for his earlier inactivity. The prince turned on his heels and made to sit on his chair again. Just as he leaned back and crossed his arms, he suddenly whirled his gaze around to Moulder. The young monk flinched visibly as the grey gaze seemed to pierce his eyes.

"Brother Moulder," the prince said in a voice that sounded decidedly blank and angry to Moulder. He swallowed hard and heard the paper between his trembling fingers rustling.

"I– I'm sorry, sire, I– I didn't mean—" Moulder dropped his gaze – he just _couldn't_ bear to see disapproval and anger and disappointment, which would surely be there, in the prince´s eyes.

"Brother Moulder, I expect that no knowledge of the conversation that just took place in this room will leave this room until _I_ allow it." Moulder nodded hastily, involuntarily digging his fingers into the letter. If the prince purposefully let silence take over to torture Moulder or not, the young monk didn't know and if Hayden did, Moulder thought he deserved it. Fidgeting nervously, he wished he could just leave already.

"I'm truly sorry, Your Highness," Moulder said. Everything was better than the silence – even self-humiliation. "I didn't intend to eavesdrop and I would never tell anybody about somebody else´s private conversation, especially not if it's you or the bishop or Father Larov. There would be grave consequences if anyone would ever spread what Father Larov is talking about with his wife. Nobody would want to know anyway, because it's nothing anyone else but them should know and very private–" Moulder rambled and noticed – as the words uncontrollably fell from his lips – that he probably just made everything worse.

"Please, Brother Moulder!" Prince Hayden interrupted him and the surprised and slightly amused tone of his voice made Moulder look up. The prince´s mouth twitched and seemed to want to broaden into a smile. "I do not need to know what Father Larov and his wife are doing." Moulder blushed and nodded hastily as the smile finally seemed to win the prince over.

"We novices do not want to know as well," Moulder said shyly, "but it's a good way to punish others." Though he was still tense and nervous, he smiled a half-smile. Prince Hayden laughed and the sound immediately relaxed Moulder; it was such a nice sound and Moulder wished he could hear it more often. It would immediately shoo any worries and negatives thoughts out of his head.

"Very well, Brother Moulder," the prince said and Moulder sobered quickly. "You don't need to fret too much. In a matter of days or maybe even hours the information will have travelled through the whole castle." The prince sighed. "News like this cannot be contained long. However..." Just as Moulder had found new hope that this would not end badly, it was crushed yet again. "I expect that this will not happen again." Prince Hayden levelled a gaze at Moulder that made the monk feel very small, very bad and very guilty. He nodded quickly – no wonder that Lord Innes rarely fussed around the prince.

"I promise, Your Highness, in Latona´s name." Moulder placed his right hand over his heart and actually managed to look the prince in the eyes. The approval he saw there made his heart thump against his chest; he imagined he felt it against his palm.

"Good. Now please deliver the letter to Bishop Findlay directly." Moulder nodded, bowed and hastened out of the door.

The conversation with the prince haunted him for the rest of the day and for many weeks afterwards. While he was still ashamed of his conduct, he felt that in a way he got to know the prince better. That they had shared something after the pegasus knight had left. Moulder just felt closer to the prince. And said closeness made him appreciate and love the prince even more.


	19. Simple :: VigardeFado ::

Normally, Vigarde´s way to his private rooms – from the throne room left, up two flights of stairs, through one long corridor, turn around one corner – was quite solitary. His rooms were in a rather remote area of the castle and he very much liked that. In fact, the previous emperors had all resided in rooms situated directly over the throne room, but Vigarde had never liked the "crowdedness" of the corridors there. He could find no peace there.

Vigarde liked those solitary walks because they gave him time to switch his brain from working mode to sleeping mode, which he sorely needed – especially lately. Only rarely he was accompanied by someone; sometimes guests who stayed in the same wing, Lyon because his room was close to his and (much more often lately) his doctors. They were not particularly loud as well, so it wasn't that different from the other days.

But every now and then the silence was filled.

Vigarde peeked over his shoulder; Fado was talking animatedly, patted him on the arm every now and then and looked around the whole time. While Vigarde would by no means call Fado _chatty_, in contrast to Vigarde he seemed like it. Vigarde liked listening to people much better than talking.

While Fado´s (moderate) chattiness was a nice change, Vigarde noticed that he soon grew tired of listening. He had to listen and talk so much during the day that he needed some silence in the evening. But he knew a fool-proof way to shut Fado up.

As soon as they entered the first of Vigarde´s rooms, he walked over to the schnapps cabinet. Fado chuckled behind him as he opened the glass door. "Am I too loud again?" Vigarde smirked and fetched two low glasses.

"Of course not." He grabbed a strong whiskey and turned; Fado had already taken a seat on a plushy armchair. He grinned crookedly at Vigarde. Wordlessly, Vigarde poured both of them half a glass – Fado chuckled at that – and sat down on another armchair with a tiny sigh. Fado took his glass, inspected the whiskey for a moment, sniffed at it and finally took a little sip. He made a happy "Hm" sound.

Vigarde saw Fado recline in his chair, closing his eyes and slowly sipping the strong alcohol. He turned his gaze towards the window in front of him and cleared his mind. He was already completely sunken in a relaxed trance when Fado suddenly disturbed him; he had stood up and sauntered over to the window Vigarde was looking out of. Vigarde noticed that only one gulp of whiskey was left in Fado´s glass; he chided himself for being unobservant.

"Why is your room here," Fado asked, slowly and thoughtfully, "if the other side of the castle has a much nicer view?" He leaned forward; from Vigarde´s position it looked like he was pressing his nose against the glass. The thought amused Vigarde. He pushed himself up, placed his only half empty glass on the ground next to his chair and walked over to Fado.

"It's too animated. It reminds me of work." His mouth twitched downwards for a second. He shrugged it away. "And I like the mountains." He let his eyes once again roam over the tall Mt Karas in the distance; the gentle blue that played around it every night was so very soothing.

"Heh, I like liveliness." Fado grinned up at him. Vigarde gave him a tiny nod and a small smile.

"I would have never guessed." Fado´s eyes seemed to glint. He turned his gaze away, then, and looked out at the green again. Vigarde quite happily joined him and the silence returned for a few minutes.

Vigarde quickly found his inner calm again and his muscles slackened. Lately, he sometimes had difficulties to reach this state of relaxation and it concerned him, which caused him to become even more tense and therefore unable to refresh his energy. In the corner of his eyes, he saw Fado downing the last of his alcohol, so he was just in time.

Fado released a happy sigh through his nose, paused for a second and then looked at Vigarde. "Do you want to?"

Vigarde hesitated for a second – he had lost weight lately because of his sickness and Fado might notice – but he would very much like to... – but Fado was perceptive and he might not have energy for everything. Such and other thoughts flickered through his brain, but in the end his instincts won.

"Yes." And he leaned down and pressed his lips against Fado´s. This would relax him even more, Vigarde told himself and let Fado roam free.


	20. Innocent Question :: Eira, Fadia ::

I wanted some more Eira/Fadia, especially since the last piece was so hard to write. This is much shorter, though, and sweet, I believe. And, well, at the very very very beginning of Eira's attraction to Fadia.

* * *

Eira reclined in her chair, frowning in thought. She raised one finger and traced the bridge of her nose. Eventually, after rubbing the prominent bump adorning it, she turned to look at Fadia. The girl was leaning low over her sketching paper. Through her loose turquoise hair, Eira could see the outline of a landscape – she guessed Fadia was drawing from memory, because there was the sea and the Frelian castle wasn't that close to it.

"Fadia?" Eira asked. Fadia raised her head and blinked questioningly at her friend. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course," she answered and sat up straight. Her messy bangs framed her face in a particularly pretty way, Eira thought. Eira turned to look straight ahead.

"I've heard some gossip yesterday," Fadia interrupted her with a pained groan – Eira smiled, "and it made me wonder." Eira shifted in her chair. She felt Fadia stare at her, which made her surprisingly nervous. She raised her finger to her nose again. "Someone said that I look," she licked her lips, "strange. Ladies should have small noses or snub noses. Not such a… hook." Eira forced her hand to fall to her side and looked at Fadia. Fadia was staring at her with such an adorable and serious frown that Eira involuntarily cheered up. "What do you think?"

Fadia crinkled her nose, then broke out in a grin. "I think those people have no taste. I think you are beautiful." Eira's heart jumped up against her throat. She hadn't expected this reaction from herself. "I love looking at you. If you were in a big group of women, you would immediately grab my attention. You're special." Eira lowered her gaze, her cheeks probably red with awkwardness and happiness.

"Thank you", she mumbled. Fadia's grin widened.

"Hehe, 'twas my pleasure." Eira's cheeks darkened and Fadia laughed. Then she leaned over her drawing again and Eira slumped, feeling very relieved and very much enchanted by her friend.


	21. Friends :: FadoVigarde ::

Fado and Vigarde would totally be Friends with (Occasional) Benefits.

**Rated M for:** Sex, Frottage

* * *

It was not necessarily strange that Fado and Vigarde were drunk on a Friday night, especially not because they were at home, sprawled out on their old couch. It was a bit unusual that Hayden wasn't there, but that had never kept them from drinking. What was strange, though, was the fact that Vigarde was ranting angrily.

"-and I told her, y'know, told her." Vigarde gestured wildly and desperately searched for those elusive words he wanted to say. Fado was resting his head on his shoulder and watched him lazily. "That I didn' want a relationship, y'know. But she just... cried and stuff." He snapped his head over to Fado. "Y'know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"I told her I just wanted to fuck." Vigarde frowned angrily and crossed his arms, almost slapping Fado accidentally. "But she cried an' cried. Stupid women."

"Don' be so hard on 'em," Fado said and petted his friend's leg. "Ma'be ya was unclear again."

"Unclear? I'm no unclear," Vigarde argued.

"'s okay. 's over now." Vigarde hmph-ed, still miffed, but his shoulders relaxed and he took another deep gulp of their beer-schnapps mix. Fado sighed, a tad tired, and snuggled up to Vigarde.

"You're cuddly again," Vigarde remarked.

"Hm-hm."

"… Whatever." Vigarde finished the can of schnapps-beer, crumbled it up and threw it in the general direction of the bin. He leaned his head against the backrest of the couch and stared at the ceiling. After a moment, Fado shifted and put his arms around Vigarde. "What'cha doing there?" Vigarde asked confused.

"Nothin'," Fado answered and squeezed Vigarde.

"Doesn't look like 'nuthing'," he argued.

"I wanna cuddle," Fado said in an almost whiny voice and buried his face in Vigarde's shirt.

"Okay," Vigarde sighed and tilted his head so it was resting atop Fado's head. They stayed like this for a while; Vigarde slowly relaxed and slumped against Fado. "This's nice," he slurred eventually.

"Yeah." Fado squeezed Vigarde closer and rested his head in Vigarde's crook of the neck. He shivered when Fado's breath caressed his skin.

"Fado?"

"Huh?"

"You're ticklin' me." Fado raised his head, an almost comically confused expression on his face. "You're breathin' all over me." The confusion very slowly turned into a frown.

"Let me," he whined and returned his head to where it was lying before. Vigarde hmph-ed but didn't keep Fado from doing it. Soon the warm breath ghosted over his skin again.

It stayed uncomfortable for less than a minute. Then Vigarde suddenly noticed that it actually felt pretty nice. He closed his eyes slowly; only now he felt Fado's warmth all over his body, his strong arms around him and his lips lightly lying on his skin. Vigarde's breathing immediately grew heavy and short. He shifted slightly to the right; suddenly Fado's lips were pressing against his skin. Just like a kiss. Something in Vigarde's belly tightened.

Vigarde froze in this position and let the pleasant feeling grow. His blood started to boil and creep downwards. When his trousers finally felt far too small, he tilted his head so that his mouth was close to Fado's ear. "Fado?" he whispered, his voice involuntarily husky.

"Hm?" Fado looked up; he seemed sleepy. He blinked confused at Vigarde's look. It took him several seconds until he understood. A grin spread on his face. "You're horny," he said with a giggly voice. Vigarde nodded wordlessly. Slowly and sluggishly, Fado pushed himself up – Vigarde snatched at him. Still grinning, Fado made to sit in Vigarde's lap. Vigarde's hands shot under Fado's shirt, grasping his hip.

He smashed his lips against Vigarde's. The kiss was long and messy – they were too drunk to dislike it, though. They had to concentrate too much on their hands and hips anyway. Fado sneaked his fingers under Vigarde's belt and pulled; Vigarde tilted his hip up and moaned happily when his throbbing groin pressed against Fado. Smirking into their sloppy kiss, Fado slowly – painfully slowly – started to move. In long strokes, he ground his groin against Vigarde's. The rough texture of Vigarde's jeans rubbed against his sensitive organ and he all but sighed in delight.

Vigarde's hands shot down to Fado's ass and he tried to pull him closer, to make him grind harder – he needed _more_. He needed friction, he needed touch, oh god he wanted to get off so badly. But Fado just slowed down and kissed him deeply. Vigarde wanted to protest, but Fado did incredible things to his tongue so that he suffered silently.

After a moment Vigarde's need grew unbearably and his shaky fingers searched for Fado's belt. Suddenly Fado stopped altogether. Vigarde whined into his friend's mouth. No matter what he did, Fado didn't start moving his hips again. No matter how much they kissed – thank goodness, Fado hadn't stopped that as well – or how much Vigarde pulled at him. "Why," Vigarde asked and immediately kissed Fado again.

"Hands off," he said when Vigarde finally let him. Growling, Vigarde complied and shifted his hands away from Fado's belt. As soon as Vigarde's hands were on Fado's ass did he move again. Growling with delight and neediness, Vigarde threw his head back. Again the rubbing and the delightful pressure and then there was Fado's lips against his neck and he just wanted to come.

Vigarde's whole body seemed to tickle. His skin crawled with pleasure – he would've never thought that the feeling of a jeans rubbing against him could be so good. His mouth standing open, Vigarde gasped at every up and down movement. His pleasure had already clouded his mind, but part of him noticed that Fado quickened his pace. "Yes," Vigarde whispered. He heard Fado's breathing quickening as well. Vigarde clutched his ass tighter. So close, he knew he was so close. Jerks went through his whole body, small at first, then there was a grand shock flashing through his body and he came, his jeans becoming wet. Fado continued grinding and slowly Vigarde's head grew clearer. He lowered his hand to cup Fado's groin. With his help, Fado came as well and slumped on Vigarde's lap.

Both men rested like this for a moment. Vigarde sighed comfortably. "You know," he said, his speech a bit less slurred than before. Fado looked up; he seemed contented as well. "We wouldn' have to wash our jeans if you did sumthin' else." Fado snorted and pushed himself off his friend's lap.

"Didn't want to." Fado grabbed his bottle of beer and emptied it in one swing. Then he pushed himself to his feet; he swayed slightly. "I'ma gonna go to bed."

"Yeah," Vigarde sighed and stood up as well. Both wobbled to their respective rooms and almost immediately fell asleep.

The next day, neither of them felt particularly good when they noticed that their pants were sticking to them. They swore no sex when they were too drunk to clean up afterwards.


	22. Not Enough :: Fadia, Hayden ::

Lolz, I actually post another thing for this. Are the pigs flying already? Man, having to write a term paper always makes me want to write fic. Which I do. Not this one, this is old, but others. Moar Fadia and Vigarde stuff 8D I like 'em.

* * *

"Hayden, can you cut my hair?" He startled and looked up wide-eyed from his book to Fadia. The teenager held the scissors in one hand, the other was placed on her hip. "Come on." She held the scissors out to him.

"Wha– Why?" He frowned and lowered his book.

"Because I don't like my hair."

"Hairdressers exist for a reason."

"I know," she said with a roll of her eyes. She flopped down on his bed next to him. "But I have no money and my parents don't want me to cut it. They say a girl must have long hair." She rolled her eyes again. "So you're cutting it." She pressed the scissors into his hand, closing his fingers around it tightly.

"Fadia, I can't do that," he protested and tried to let go of the scissors. Fadia, however, had an iron grip and his fingers didn't even budge. Sighing, he gave up. "I don't know how to cut hair."

"Just chop it off."

"And when it looks stupid, it'll be my fault."

"It won't look stupid," she answered with so much conviction that his eyebrows rose high. "You're a perfectionist. You'll make sure that it looks bearable." He grumbled and looked at the scissors; it was long, shiny and surely very sharp, and he could do much damage with it.

"How short do you want it?" he finally asked, suppressing a sigh, and looked up; he was almost blinded by her broad and beaming smile. He couldn't help but colour a tiny bit.

"Just till my neck," she said and placed the edge of her hand to her neck, just under her ear.

"That's really short," he answered and stood up, jerking his head to the corridor. Fadia pushed herself to her feet, her smile never wavering.

"It's not that short." He led her to the bathroom, she skipped after him. "It's only a bit longer than yours." Self-consciously, his free hand ran over his neck, following the bottom line of his grey hair, and then quickly fell to his side again. "Then we'll look alike!"

He laughed. "I'd have to grow boobs first. Oh wait, I don't." Snorting with laughter, she shoved him into the bathroom. "Hey, hey!" She closed the door behind them. Hayden looked around; the bathroom was medium-sized so there was enough space for both of them and their enterprise. There was no stool, unfortunately, so they might had to divert the laundry basket from its intended use. Fadia sauntered over to the big mirror over the basin, turning around to look at herself from all sides, and tugged at her hair while Hayden pulled the laundry basket to the middle of the room.

"Alright, sit down." When she walked over, her smile was strangely dampened. He frowned. "Fadia, if you have doubts–"

"No," she interrupted him and flopped down on the plastic basket. It cracked and she flailed – Hayden jumped forward to hold her. Slightly astonished, she clutched at the basket and became completely still.

"Are you okay?" She let out a long sigh, relaxing, and laughed again.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about your basket though."

"It's okay." He threw a quick glance at it; there was thankfully just a short crack on the backside. He could maybe hide that one. The one in the lid could not be hidden, though. He flinched lightly; he'd just buy a new one. He always saved a bit of money for emergencies. "Now sit straight." That was no problem for Fadia; she always sat with a very straight back.

Hayden took a tiny step back and assessed the situation. Fadia's hair fell straight down her shoulders, the tips touching her butt; it was not terribly mussed up and Hayden believed that was a good thing. Keeping the hair straight was the only thing he could clearly remember from his own visits at the hairdresser's. So he grabbed his comb and brushed her hair. Fadia started to hum lowly, her feet tapping in time with the melody, and obviously enjoyed his treatment.

Hayden, however, felt a bit strange; acting as a hairdresser was one thing (and a truly weird thing), but brushing Fadia's hair… Fadia was someone who always touched people when she talked with them and often hugged people; she liked and sought body contact. Hayden didn't and Fadia was more or less the only person who could hug him without making him uncomfortable. Even though Fadia regularly touched him, he rarely did more than return the hug.

Brushing her hair felt oddly intimate. Her hair slipped through his fingers, tickling and stroking his skin, which made his blood run quicker. It was a bit… uncomfortable to feel that way.

Clumsily, he gathered her hair at her neck, the back of his fingers skimming her neck. She suddenly shivered and arched her back. "What is it?" Hayden asked confused, his grip slackening, and her hair fell from his hands.

"It just tickled," she said over her shoulder, smiling embarrassed. "I'm… a bit sensitive there." Hayden nodded slowly and she turned around again. He took a short, yet deep breath and started to gather her hair again; this time he watched out so he wouldn't touch her neck again. Her shivering had excited his heart far too much.

He raised the scissors and captured the pony tail between the blades. He did not cut yet. "Are you really sure?" he asked. Fadia took a tiny breath.

"Yes." Her voice sounded strong and in the mirror he could see the determined look on her face.

"Alright."

The cut was noiseless but not easy. Her hair was thick so Hayden had to fight a bit. Eventually, though, he held a handful of turquoise hair while Fadia cautiously examined the new length with her fingers. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "It's awesome," she breathed.

"Do you want to keep it?" he asked awkwardly and offered her the hair. She hesitated, her gaze dropping to what had been a part of her just seconds ago.

"No." She shook her head, her now short hair slapping against her face, which made her smile again. "Throw it away." He shrugged and did as she told.

"I'll make it a bit more straight." She nodded. That was easier said than done, though, and so Hayden was clueless for a few seconds. In the end he crouched down a bit and tried to somehow make the bottom line of her hair not look like a series of hills and vales.

At first he held the scissors so he didn't touch her, but it didn't work particularly well. His hand started to shake and accidentally he cut a rather deep hole into her hair. He cursed inwardly, gaze flying upwards to see if she'd noticed something – she didn't. Hayden shifted, fighting inwardly, and in the end he had to rest the scissors against her neck. She gasped when the cold metal touched her skin.

"I'm sorry," he automatically said.

"Don't worry," she answered with a laugh. "Just surprised." He nodded and returned to his task. He bit his tongue in concentration. Despite his propping up of the scissors, it was very tough for him to cut in a straight line; her hair just moved all the time, escaping from the blades, slipping away when Fadia moved. It was frustrating.

"Hayden, is everything okay?" Fadia asked over her shoulder, when she hadn't heard the snipping of the scissors for a little while. Hayden was crouching behind her, a hand running through his own hair and looking grim.

"Yes, yes," he answered and raised the scissors again. "Just… thinking." Fadia shrugged and turned around. She truly seemed to be sure that he would do his job well. He wasn't. Licking his lips and feeling his blood drumming in his ears, he raised his free hand to take a hold of her hair. He had to keep it from moving, even if it made him feel weird. Better he felt weird for a short time than she had to run around with an ugly haircut.

Gingerly, he caught a broad strand between index and middle finger – his other fingers brushed over her skin. He heard her suck in a surprised breath and battled down his blush. This was all so awkward just because she was so sensitive! If she didn't react at all, he wouldn't feel like that.

He was being ridiculous; Hayden took a deep breath and pushed all those idiotic thoughts from his mind. He had to concentrate now. And for a surprisingly long while it worked well. Her neck or her reactions (nor her chatting with him) distracted him from his job and he was proud that it went well. Until he made the last cut and declared he was finished.

"Really?" Fadia asked, the grin on her face also audible in her voice, and jumped to her feet to look at herself in the mirror. She turned and twisted, tugging at her hair and running her hands through it. "It's awesome!" Whirling around, she pulled Hayden into a tight hug. He blushed only a tiny bit at it (just a leftover reaction from the earlier weirdness). "Thank you."

"No problem," he answered and patted her back. She let go of him, grinning, and inspected herself in the mirror again.

"Can you maybe brush away the loose hair on my shoulders?" she asked when she noticed the many short bits of hair.

"Sure," he said and looked around for a soft brush or something else.

"Just use your hands. It doesn't have to be completely clean," she said when she noticed it – she had already started wiping the places she could reach. That sent a new wave of heat through Hayden's body. He had avoided touching her neck for so long and now she asked for it. "Hayden?"

"Yeah, sure." He swallowed hard when he stepped closer and she offered her neck to him. Her skin was tanned – she rarely stayed indoors for more than sleeping in summer – and her neck muscular. There was truly nothing unusual about it, but it made his heart beat so freaking quickly that Hayden thought something was wrong with him. Tentatively, he brushed over it, wiping away some of the hair.

The touch was… nothing special. Her neck was neither particularly soft or smooth or something else. It was just skin. Hayden was actually relieved. He had feared that it might feel more special, which could've meant things he wasn't sure he'd want. A relieved sigh passed his lips and he cleared her neck with a strange sort of confidence. A few hairs still stuck to her skin so he tried to blow them away.

Fadia squeaked in surprise – Hayden took a startled step back. Her hand flew to her neck to cover it. "What is it?" he asked confused.

"You gave me goosebumps!" she exclaimed and turned laughing. She rubbed her neck. Hayden's heart suddenly leapt up again. "Alright, as a reward I'll treat you to whatever you want."

Hayden just nodded with a smile – the strange feeling had almost left again, thankfully. Fadia threw her arm around his shoulders and together they left the bathroom. "I'm curious what my parents will say."


End file.
